RED Tracker RECRUITED
by Hitman White
Summary: The RED team has been caught in a bad spot for months leaving their overall performance poor. The Administrator will not have this, and so she set out in search for a mercenary to even out the scores. Few issues—the team will have to adjust, and Scout isn't quite sure if he's head over heels or bat over skull for the newbie from Detroit. Gents, gentlemen: Meet the Tracker!
1. Prologue

Deep in the heart of the desert was one very important place to the Team Fortress Industries.

**Decoy.**

A base so deeply prized by the RED Soldier which was icon for a skill only man was capable of. Lying. The fake HQ was the size of a small town and greatly resembles that of an old Western tale come to life. When RED and BLU are not maliciously fighting they join forces—whether in the same bases or in completely different locations—to stop a foe they all shared. Though…they seemed to prefer being station at completely different bases. At first the day was quiet. No threat had seemed to be afoot—but then the explosions happened.

**RED Tracker RECRUITED**

_**Prologue**_

"INCOMING!"

Wave after wave of mechanical beings flowed from the top most point of the small cliff and scurried the grounds of the pathetic ghost town. Robotic Scouts swarmed in the masses, taking in every single inch like mad ants. And when the RED team successfully cleaned them out another wave commenced. This time Soldiers, aiming their dangerous rocket launchers and shooting down the REDs like small cattle. Without the Heavy keeping them back they would have surely been done for, and with a constant feed of health from the Medic and a never ending supply of ammo thanks to the Engineer the robots had been kept back near the cliff wall. "NO ROBOT CAN PASS!" the thick Russian man boomed in glory. Heavy swings Sasha from side to side, plowing through the hunks of metal as Scout and Spy quickly take out any damaged foes, avoiding any incoming bullets or stray rockets. The Heavy could feel his skin tingle as the rays of health engulfed him.

"ARE YOU READY, DOCOR?"

"Nein! But soon, my Ubercharge iz almost at ONE HUNDRED!" the Medic grinned devilishly—they had been on what seemed to be the last wave. Lately for months they have nearly lost every act of defense. Every one. The reason why was beyond them—perhaps their teamwork was lacking? Regardless, this day felt perfect. No one was going to stop the REDs today! No robot will make them desperate! Engineer had been standing upon the corner of the wall, his shotgun prepared for any strays that turned the corner. For a moment he took the time to scan the pathways above. They were high, clinging against the rocky walls that enveloped the town. Usually Scout bots would sneak through, the bomb mounted upon their backs. A familiar tanned hat caught his eye—the Sniper had taken post there. Sniper gives the man a tilt of the head, ensuring the all clear. That was good. The Engineer felt himself sigh with relief, his gaze scrolling down to spot the Medic before him. The mad doctor had been using the Heavy as a shield from the chaos, a confident grin playing his features. Suddenly a blue light shines upon his face right in the very center of his forehead. The Engineer's jaw drops, "MEDIC, MOVE!" He snaps his head to the side, staring towards a distant bot. Before the Doctor could even retaliate a shot was fired. The bullet goes between his eyes, his body falling down onto the dirt ground. Engineer grips onto his shotgun, "GOD…DAAAAMN IT!"

"What, what is it?" The Heavy questions, irritated. His small eyes gaze down towards the Medic's lifeless body, and his eyes widen. "Oh…" A bullet bounces from his minigun's heavy exterior. On reflex the man raises his arm to cover his bald head, swinging his gun to the side. "SNIPOR!"

At that moment the Scout and Spy stop dead in their tracks, spotting the fallen ally. Scout's hat flies from his head, a bullet zooming and missing him by a hair. "SHIT, DEMO YO GET DOWN HERE!" he calls for the Demoman. He had been upon the bridge, shooting his sticky bombs upon the canyon walls and detonating them. Laughing, he gleefully watches their bodies hit boulders as the sky practically rained metal parts. "YO, DEMO SNAP OUTTA IT!" Quickly his mouth shuts, the man gazing over his shoulder. He hadn't even noticed the second floor was being swarmed by Scout bots. A bat slams against his shoulder, and he curses under his breath. Kicking the bot to the side he takes out his bottle, crashing it over another's head. For a moment it stalls, swaying dizzily, and he takes the opportunity to grab its shoulder and push it over the edge. He stares after it. "THAT'LL HURT IN THA MORNIN'! AAAHAHAHAHHAAA!"

An all too familiar voice came from overhead—the Announcer. "Alert! There are Spies coming!" The Spy takes a moment to pull takes his cigarette and throw it to the side, his butterfly knife now spinning along his thing fingers. He turns his head towards Scout who had just batted down a Solider bot. He watches as the Spy gives him a nod, raising his wrist. "Danger is coming," were his last words before he cloaks himself. "Awe fuck," the Scout nods his head, not being excited at all of what's to come. The sound of Heavy's heavy screaming and Sasha plowing nearby made him jerk down. "FUCK, DEMO C'MON MAN HURRY THE FUCK UP!" That was the man's cue—Demoman was about to turn and make his way down.

A sniper shot roared through the air. The Demoman jerks up, gazing to his left. Another Scout bot had tried to attack him from his blind side. Turning, he gives the Sniper a thumbs up before going on a rampage towards the Scout and Spy's direction. Sniper proceeded to shooting down all Sniper bots first. It was his usual technique, and damn was it helpful. But more and more came. He pulls the trigger, his gun clicking. Empty? No, he hadn't finished his clip. That meant that…

"What in the bloody…it's jammed!" he curses under his breath, punching and slamming against it. Stress and anxiousness welled up in his chest when he notices the overwhelming horde of bots. The Demoman the exited from the building behind Heavy, approaching him. Sniper narrowed his eyes and darted them back to the bride directly above the massacre—Demoman was still up there, slowly making his way down to the Scout. The man curses under his breath; the Demoman behind Heavy was a spy! Finally somewhere in his gun it clicks, and he quickly aims down his sights and shoots down the disguised Spy. It landed with a loud thud, his heart racing and pounding.

"You have killed a Spy!" the Announcer booms, obviously still not much impressed.

The big man down below hadn't even noticed the danger he was in. "Bloody wanka," he sighs. Then a pain overwhelmed his back—a blade twisted deep within his spine, slicing and scraping his precious nerves. A cry of pain escapes his lips, and his teammates gazed up and watched in shock as the Spy bot pulled its knife from his aching flesh, kicking his body over the edge of the walkway and watching as he destroys a row of crates below. Engineer curses, his hand gripping onto his hardhat. He practically jumped from the hard landing. "Sniper!"

"NNOOO!" Aiming Sasha, the Spy bot darts from the incoming flurry of bullets. Heavy roars, his chest rising as he continued to shoot. Scout shoots more bots, realizing he was suddenly becoming outnumbered. His blue eyes glared at Heavy. "YO! BIG GUY THE HELL! WATCH MY BACK!" he snapped, nearly being shot by a shovel just after. A metal fist slams against his side, and his light body slings to the side. The Scout's body rolls along the ground, finally coming to a stop not far from the Heavy and Engineer's location. "Uhh.." he wasn't dead, but his vision had begun to blur. "M…MEDIC!" From the distance he could hear Demoman yelling to him, but they were beyond muffled. Heavy prepared to shoot the unarmed Heavy bot, its fists taunting and ready to finish off Scout. But suddenly it surged and fell over, the Spy uncloaking from behind it, his knife's blade dripping with motor oil. He grunted, quickly approaching the Scout. Aiding him up he drags him behind the small building that sat before their bases entrance, leaning him against the inclined walkway that led to the second level. "Easy there, le Médecin will respawn soon."

"Wha?"

Spy rolled his eyes at his dazed state. "The Medic," he grunts, his accent rich and crisp. Scout grunted, turning his head to the side. He swore he saw the word Roof on the wall. The Announcer spoke again.

"Engineers, look out for that Sentry Buster!" It wasn't long until another explosion. The Spy narrowed his gaze. "Merde, wait here." "Wait, Spy AUGH…shit, my side…." The Scout curses to him a string of hate—he was missing the action. The bastard left him like a worthless dog. This was nothing Scout couldn't take! The pain wasn't bad at all! Standing he jerks his head up, gritting his teeth as he collapses back upon the incline. It was true, the fact that he survived that made him lucky. In no time he saw a white blur approach, his face cringing as the pain grew more and more. "Damn it, HURRY THE FUCK UP!" Scout knew he was the fastest—everyone around him seemed so damn slow. Medic readies his gun, the rays of health tingling the Scout's body. His sides sting painfully, but soon it slowly started so subside. "Took you long 'nough, old man," he coughs.

The Medic ignores his insults. "Vhere are ze others?" He could only watch as Scout began to chuckle painfully as his clutched his left side. "Sniper's ass is still respawnin'. They…They're getting their asses…KICK man…gah, shhhit!" An explosion nearby made the Medic turn his head. A stray Soldier boy turned the corner, launcher ready. Medic hadn't been finished healing the Spy, but he didn't have the time. Quickly he draws out his syringe gun and opens fire, Scout desperately reaching for his pistol.

"Alert! A tank has entered the arena!"

All heads turn to the farthest point of the map—deep within the cave, below the sign that read 'Danger' birthed a tank. And though the Sniper spawned and they had all been in the arena the tank had reached the base. The members had fought back bots, slammed and shot the tank's strong exterior with all of their might. Scout?

Scout watched. Irritated. Pissed. He had been firing his pistol from a distance but ammo ran dry quicker than the desert lost water. No crates were near him, and he could barely move. "FUCK!" he screamed, raising his arm over his head and hurdles the pistol towards the base. It falls deep within the trench, not even making it. "…GGGRRAH!" An explosion made the Scout jump, his shoulders dropping at the scene.

"That's it! That's the last of them! Try to do it more professionally _next_ time—that is if I give you one."

With that the REDs returned to their main base, leaving the arena completely empty. The Administrator, like a hawk, kept a watchful eye on both teams. Their whereabouts, progress, and everything else they could imagine was her job. Dusting off her purple suit she snaps her head at the monitors, watch team RED making their way about the base now, dirty and exhausted. Disgusting. Disgraceful.

She could practically spit at the screen. "Such, terrible performance."

"How do you plan on revitalizing their stats?" She sighed for a moment before speaking again. "Well Ms. Pauling, I have been pondering on that for too long. Unfortunately, the best course of action may have to…_bend _the rules I so rightfully set." Her assistant watched as the woman stood and began to stalk around the room. "…what is one of the most important rules that our mercenaries but abide by, Ms. Pauling?"

"Bonding is one, ma'am."

The woman chuckles. "Yes, Friendships are in direct contravention of the mercenary conduct…doing so will go against their contracts. Which is why, of course, there are no woman allowed." Ms. Pauling felt her arms become tense. "Ma'am, you're not saying…?" "I know, dire is it not? I would hate to succumb to such a level but the despondent fool was a perfect too-be solider. Youthful, absolutely no plans for a pursuit for education and success…yes, a lonely individual who lives a wretched life with nowhere else to go. Seems perfect…though there is just one problem."

"The teams will be uneven?"

"No, no, no they're practically uneven as it is did you not see the charts?" she laughs lowly.

"Then what is?"

"Well, if the soul has nothing to gain then it has nothing to lose. I'm worried we might not have a tight…chain on her. What say you, Ms. Pauling? Either way I have the final say," she took a deep breath, her lips pressed against the cigarette. Ms. Pauling simply held onto her clipboard, blinking as if she couldn't believe the woman asked for her opinion like it mattered. "Well, ma'am. I would say trust your instincts." "Hmm…" the Administrator simply sighed, not very satisfied with the answer. Ms. Pauling stared at her through the cloud of smoke before finally asking yet again another question, "Well, where are they residing?" After a long sigh her boss had finally answered.

"Detroit."


	2. The Running Nobody

_**Disclaimer for the readers: I only own my OC, whom is known as Tracker. Everything else belongs to the gaming company Valve. As for what is said about several cities including Detroit, these places are not how I depict them. This is solely to add more to the environment—besides; anywhere you go is dangerous no matter what era. Enjoy.**_

Detroit, Michigan wasn't your average city.

On a map?

Yeah, it's average. But when you're in it, man it can be wild. People live in Brooklyn, in Miami, and in any deep and poor pit of a city somewhere in America. But Detroit was _different_, you see. It's got punks, chumps, and gangs galore. You had to be born into this shit man. You had to be born ready, born tough, and most of all born with a fast mind.

_**Chapter 1**_

_**The Running Nobody  
**_

"STOP!"

Crowds of people stumbled and gasped, their possessions and groceries hitting the floor as the small form snaked her away around them in breathtaking speed. Occasionally she'd bump into a random civilian—if occasionally was always in your book! Gazing over her shoulder the two policemen blew their whistles as they tried desperately to make a path through a sea of sweating people. It was a hot day—faces were flushed and newspapers became temporary fans. The young lady chuckled at the sight, turning on her heel and bouncing in place. "Getting tired yet?" she taunts playful, light giggles slipping through her pressed lips. The men of the law stopped for a moment to take a breather, their eyes bouncing along and following her every movement. It was almost as if they were treating her like a bird—one wrong move and she'd fly away. But her constant laughing had made them growl with agitation, the two leaning against each other. The shorter of the two points to her, "You've done it now, Tracks."

"I did?"

"The hell you did!" yelled the heavier set, his breathing wheezy. For a moment he wipes his soaking forehead with his sleeve. "Why else would we be chasing you?!" Her eyes narrowed, and finally she ceased from jogging in place. Putting a foot out she strikes a pose, her head looking into the sky as if deeply pondering. "Nah, I doubt that."

"Now don't try getting yourself outta this one, Tracks. You went and stole from the café five blocks down!" She glares at this accusation, one hand on her hip. "What? I was hungry! What do you expect me to do?"

"GET A JOB!" they yelled in unison. Her shoulders squeeze inward and she crosses her arms, hip popped out and face pouting. Get a job? Like she could! No one would hire a young woman like her. "Awe shucks, you guys really do live in your cars don't you? No one wants to hire me," she raises her arms out, bowing towards them tauntingly. They shake their heads before patting themselves off.

"Listen, Tracks, you're just a kid. You got every chance to fix yourself! What are you gonna do for the rest of your life? Run around rooftops and sidewalks, stealin' from some helpless people trying to make a livin'?"

"He's right. We've been chasing your tail for god knows how long—hell, probably ten years now! Every cop here knows you—do you really want that? I mean, what if you find yourself a perfect opportunity or maybe even a nice guy? You gonna drop that in front of a movin' train too?"

As they spoke her eyes had rolled to the ground, feet becoming tense and breathing slowed. She hated being preached too, and these two knuckle heads did it every time they got the damn chance. Sighing she rolls her eyes to the side before snapping out of it. "Listen, guys, loved chatting with you two and all buuuut, I gotta run!" With that she spun on her heel and darted away from them, faster than before.

"Dammit!"

"TRACKS!"

As dusk approached the city became cooler—winds were stronger and grey tones became a muddy orange. The young woman known as Tracks had ran towards a nearby park. Effortlessly she leaped over shrubs and bushes like they were nothing, her hand gripping onto the brown backpack slung around her. The single strap crossed over her chest and rubbing against her collarbone had left a small mark over the years. Upon landing she took a sharp turn and in no time reached the end of the park. A barrel that had been filled with papered trash in the early morning was now lit, illuminating a musky light. The smell was acquired, but the warmth made it worth ignoring. She bounced to a stop, her light feet crushing small stones and grass beneath her. The sound to the people surrounding the barrel was pleasant now—they knew who those steps belonged to. Not all feet were that quiet.

"Tracks?"

"Tracks!"

"Tracker Packer!"

A small sound scurried from behind the barrel, a form too small to see. A young boy had poked his head from the side, a big smile forming from the sight of her. He runs over, and she bends over just in time to catch him into her arms. "TRACKS!" She chuckles, "Hey there kiddo. Guess what I got ya?" He thinks but soon shrugs. Spinning her bag to the front of her chest she zips it open to reach in and pull out a brown paper bag. Willingly she hands it to him. "Here, it's dinner. And this time I was able to sneak a sweet thing or two for you!"

"Really? Wow! Thanks, Tracks!" he lunges into its contents, almost forgetting to chew. Trying to offer some she had only raised her palm and shook her head. "I already ate my fill, besides you need more since you're so _short_."

"Am not!"

"Are toooo," she teases. Her chuckling continues, and the three men of various ages watch as the young boy had attempted to smack the much taller girl on the head. "You know, he's been going on all day on how he's gonna woo you when he's older." The boy gulps, face flushed. "Y…YOU SHUT UP!" Much to his surprise she was down on his level again, her hand messing his blond hair up playfully. "Hmhmm…listen, I gotta go kay? The cops have been all up on my butt since this morning, and I don't need them finding you." The boy gulps, "But, I don't want you to go yet! You just got here!"

"I know, I know! It's just I promised your mom nothin' bad will happen to you, kay? Now go back home to her. Tell her you got yourself some food." Reluctantly he listens, running off into the direction of a nearby apartment. Most likely it was the most rundown apartment in the area. Once his little form squeezed through the doorway Tracks turned her head to the men to say her goodnights. Then, like every night, she raced to her home. Not far off was a high school that she had secretly stayed in. The janitor had once kept his tools in a shed near the various sport fields, but the roof began to leak and rust ate the various corners of the walls. It wasn't long until the place was left abandoned—perfect for her. Her body zoomed across grass and dirt alike with little trouble. Sometimes her feet would ache, but that was because she had long ran down the soles of her running shoes. Finally she comes to a stop, opening the shed door and shutting it behind her. A dent bore deep into a metal; years ago she had to break a lock placed there. With her bag now in a random corner and her feet up on a small table she found at the nearby trash heap she allows herself to relax. Eyes scanned through the small murky window. Outside before her was the track field—this was where her nickname was born. Tracker stands for track; the grey silvery line that stretched a quarter mile around. It was adorned with white numbers and green arrows. Obviously she had been called that because she lived near the field, but the law enforcement and homeless community call her Tracks because she ran like one. She wanted to run like one. Some could assume it was her dream.

Suddenly her stomach twitches and growls. Her face became long, eyebrows arching upward. In all honesty she hadn't eaten, but telling the little kid the truth would have made him want to share it. He did once, and was still hungry after. This was why she skipped dinner almost every night, and breakfast. For some kid. She cursed her kindliness under her breath, rolling her head to the side and spotting a nearby newspaper. Snatching it she pulls it over her face and stays the remainder of the hour motionless. Just as she had expected the lights of the baseball field nearby turned on—late night training? "Nah…home game." How could she forget? She knew the schedule. It never changed throughout the years just like their coach never did. Her nose cringed—those floodlights could pierce through even three layers of grey paper and stupid inked letters. The rest of the night she listened in on the game and kept with the score. Finally it ended with the team winning by just a lucky golden hair. Tracks rolled her eyes—damn did she suck at baseball. But the kid from the park had bet to her that if she did hit the ball (which he believed she could also do) then she would go run through those bases faster than a rock. Either way she hated it, but what the heck? He loved it. If he had ever asked she'd give the game a shot for him.

The next morning she had awoken from the stale sun's rays. Her head had been baking, the newspaper heating up and acting as some makeshift oven. Coughing she pulls it off and tosses it to the side like trash, her dark brown locks standing and eyes narrowed with irritation. Her lips press together as she blew a wavy lock from her face and pushed herself off of the chair. It moaned under her weight, and for a second she had mistaken the sound had been coming from her bones. The rest of her morning had consisted of combing her hair, followed by brushing her teeth with bottled water and a bucket. She could have gone to a public restroom somewhere but this was more convenient. Besides, she found out the hard way how male cops would still chase you into a girl's bathroom regardless of what the sign states. Spitting out the toothpaste she pulls on new clothes—a fitting brown wife beater (at least that's what the guys down at the junkyard call them) and tanned shorts. Finally she slides on her shoes and lets out a loud much needed yawn. Pulling her hair back in its usual ponytail she turns to grab her back and set out. How she wished she had bangs, but she didn't have the nerve to cut them herself. That or sharp enough scissors. She had known a girl once—Abbey Smits. The girl had tried cutting her bangs with a kitchen knife.

Let's just say that didn't work out for her.

Taking in a deep breath Tracks prepared herself for the day to come—stretch out her legs and warm up, go for a jog to the heart of the city, watch out for dropped cash, loot some random folk, find food for the kid, give food to the kid, find food for herself, _steal_ the food, run from the police, find dinner for the kid, give dinner to the kid, go home, and finally listen to the boys play ball for a couple of hours. Her face had become dull at the thought of her schedule. It was always the same, never to change. No nice car to take a drive in, no test to study for, no date with the handsome boyfriend that everyone was _totally _jealous over you for. Reaching forward she turns the handle and pushes the door open.

Yes, just a completely normal…

"Huh?" Tracks hadn't expected to see a man standing before her doorway. With narrow eyes she scanned the suspicious figure. He was tall, wore some brown fedora while the rest of him was concealed by a long tanned trench coat. '_Well this is cliché…_' she thought before perching her head back to gaze side to side. No one—absolutely no one else was around. Nothing but a gust of wind blowing by, dragging dry leaves along with it. Reluctantly she looks back at him with curious eyes. No change was there. He had just stared still. '_What is with this guy? Is he lost, cuz I ain't got nothin' worth robing._'

"…I ain't buying anything, sorry," she finally broke the silence that had so greatly bothered her. Attempting to shut the door his large hand grabs onto the frame. The man had simply took a large stop forward and shoved her back into her pathetic excuse of a shelter. "W-WHAT THE HELL?!" she stuttered and jumped back, watching as he shut the door behind him. Nearby was a role of newspaper, so she had decided to wield it.

"I am here for business," he spoke, the newspaper slamming against his face. Tracks glared at him. "DO I LOOK LIKE SOME KIND OF TWO CENT PROST'UTE TO YOU?!" she snarls. Slowly the moist paper slid down his face, revealing dark and dangerous eyes. The young woman could practically feel her hair stand. "Err…" she grunted, eye twitching as he rips his coat open to reveal a small television set strapped upon his chest. "…okay, what the hell man," she backed herself up against the wall, swallowing a lump in her throat. As her heart began to pound heavily the television set fuzzed, revealing a picture of what appeared to be a woman. Tracks opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but not having the right mind to find anything.

"Tracks, I presume?" the woman began. Tracks narrowed her eyes.

"...Eh?"

"Hmhmm, of course you are. It is a _pleasure_ making your acquaintance." The young woman clenches her jaw. "Who the heck are you? And how did you find me?!" The deep chuckle that emanated from the screen made her stomach churn.

"That is classified, though I do admit you were rather tricky to follow. A fast rabbit you are—I'm hoping you are just as astute."

"Are you insulting me?" she growls, earning yet again another chuckle. "Nonsense, I'm trying to make some…light conversation." Tracks had begun to straighten her form some before clearing her mind. "Huh…your guy friend here mentioned something about business…"

"Hmm, to the point aren't you? Good, then I don't need to keep this engrossed act up," she had appeared to pull up a cigarette before continuing. "For some time now my sights have been on you, and as you heard I'm here for a business proposition. You're lucky that you have succeeded in doing such a thing, huh." The young woman raised a brow at her before dropping her shoulders low, insulted.

"And who is the _wonderful _woman fate has so gratefully bestowed upon me…" she spoke dryly.

"As I said before, that is _classified_. But you may call me The Administrator. Also commonly known as **The Boss**…" she had grunted the last part heavily. Tracks rolls her eyes. "Yeah, right. Well, what does that have to do with me?" she tilts her head, trying to pry answers from the woman. "Have you ever heard of Mann Corporation?"

"Mann Co.? Pfft, yeah, who hasn't."

"Hmm, well you see that particular company and my own are in a constant partnership. If you work for me, you would work for both Mann Co. and the TF Industries."

"Never heard of it," the young woman grunts rudely, causing the Administrator to lower her gaze. "I'm not surprised seeing your current position." "Whatever—listen I'm not interested in working for you."

"Really? Strange…you would be making a handsome salary." The sudden glint in the young woman's eyes made the Administrator grin. She leans forward, her image growing larger. "I know you more than you think…_Tracks_. The life you lead with is painful enough to watch. We don't need to pretend to like each other. All I care for is obedience. If you work for me, you get a cut of the glory. I won't lie to you—it is strenuous work, and failure is followed by grueling consequences."

"What am I gonna do, kill people?!"

Another chuckle, followed by smoke. "Yes, actually. But don't worry, technology nowadays is better than your little mind could even begin to comprehend. All you need to know is that you're given a team, a weapon, and a fight." Tracks shook her head. "I ain't no killer lady," she snaps at her.

"Strange, you have such potential. But, I understand. No all people are born with the skills I require." "Oh, I got the skills lady you just aren't gettin' them!" The Administrator blinks. "…that fatherless boy you know is rather cute. It's a shame he has such a pathetic excuse of a mother. Poor too. Very poor."

"What?"

Yes, a soft spot after all. The Administrator grins before pressing the cigarette out against a metal table nearby, and Tracks could have sworn she heard the sizzle. "How you use the money you can be earning from me isn't my concern, Ms. Tracks. Just remember this—I know your life, I know where you live, I know your name, and most of all I _know _you are what the world calls a _nobody_." Wincing, Tracks grits her teeth at the last bit.

"The world doesn't need nobodies, Ms. Tracks. I'm giving you a chance to find purpose. The question is, are you going to throw it in front of a moving train too?"

That sentence. Damn, the woman really did watch her every move! The messenger turned around, making his way out the door. "As you can tell I am a busy woman. If you do decide to make a smart decision there will be two people waiting for you in the Michigan Central Station tomorrow morning at 7:00. I am eager to see if you join us." And then they were gone.

The remainder of the day Tracks could not think properly. She could not eat much, but she hadn't strayed from her duties to the young boy in the park. For once she had been walking around the town, her sluggish feet nearly dragging as her hands rested deep within her short's pockets. Her eyes gazed down upon the ground, burning holes into them almost. "…damn," she sighed, but a newspaper had been flying through a gust of wind. It slams into her face, startling her. Gritting her teeth she curses as she rips it off. A date caught her eye.

June of 1968.

Her face cringes at the sight of it. The last time she really looked at the date was almost four months ago. She hadn't even noticed how the time flied. The thought of spending her life like that was painful almost. Her eyes widen and she crumples it to a ball. "Fuck it," she growls and tosses it into the side, landing it perfectly into the trashcan. "I ain't working for that dumb broad!" Time passed on, and her cheeks burned from both her frustration and the heat. She gnawed upon her lip until it swelled, too deep in her thoughts to realize. By the time she had reached her small home she could only sit upon the roof and stare at game before her. A whistle blew, the announcer screamed, and the crowd roared. A perfect homerun.

Damn, she hated baseball.

Swallowing the lump in her throat she finally takes in a deep breath of the night air. City lights glistened around her, calling to her. Although they were beautiful and city itself had always been a terrible mother to her. What had been the point of staying in the first place? She…hated it. Why be so guilty for contemplating her leave. "…" Gazing down she digs into her bag. All of her possessions had been tightly bagged from her extra clothing to an incomplete deck of cards. Then there was a separate bag—fifty bucks and some snacks, various snacks, chalk, and a fully complete deck of cards. She'd leave that for the kid. He deserved it, especially since he wouldn't see her anymore. But he'd hear from her as often as she could manage. She'd call up the phone at their apartment, and she'd chat with him. They should manage with the fifty bucks.

At least until she could send them her first paycheck.


	3. The Running Newcomer

Upon the next morning Tracks had done what she thought would be inevitable. She was actually leaving that dump of a shed. As usual she had sprinted her way to the park to find that the boy was still asleep. It was twenty until seven in the morning after all. Near the bride there was an abundance of bushes. This was her and the young lads' secret hiding spot. There she would hide food for him to eat if she didn't have the time to wait. Reaching her arms in, the leaves lightly rustled from her weight. The paper bag slipped between the various branches easily, the note taped to it still intact. Hopefully he wouldn't be too upset that she was going to be gone. But, regardless, she knew she should be able to make up for it. Now, since that was done all she had to do was make her way to the station. It wouldn't take her long—the streets were rather busy though. She took in a deep breath before darting away.

**_Chapter 2_**

**_The Running Newcomer_**

The busy sidewalks weren't hard to maneuver around. She effortlessly around trash and bags, ducking and dodging between couples and under legs. Once she reached the staircase leading down she hadn't slowed—instead she jumps up, placing her bottom along the hand railing and slid down. Papers flew all around her, people yelling and screaming at her carefree form. Eyes narrowed as she jumped and landed rather messily. "GAH!" she yelped, her head ramming into someone's back and knocking him into a trashcan. His body fell in, his legs kicking furiously into the air. Her jaw drops, eyes wide with both embarrassment and shock. "Ah, sorry!" she gives a quick apology before running off into a random direction.

Meanwhile within the station waited two individuals. One was a man who wore black, a suitcase firmly in his boney grip while his free hand tugs against his sharp mustache impatiently. The second was a young woman adorned in purple. She adjusts her reading glasses, gazing at her small watch.

"Time?"

"It's 6:58."

"Hmph, how impractical. This setting is disgusting—the lighting is dull. It's a sign probably. I doubt the recruit will show."

"I believe she'll be on time." The man scoffs, nodding his head subtly at the woman's optimism. This was a job worth quitting. However, this was for professionals, and he was a professional. A loud scraping sound echoed throughout the underground tunnels, causing the man to tug his facial hair rather too hard. Several strands ripped off, and he fumes. Before the two could even question what the cause was, a trashcan rolls in from the corner and slams against the wall. Seconds after, a woman appears. She runs in, face pale with panic. "GET HER!"

"Aaaahhhh," she grunts, jerking her head this way and that for a place to hide.

The man's eyes narrowed at the sight, the young woman in purple only staring at the scene casually.

"You…have got to be joking," he grunts before greasing his hair back. "WHAT was the Administrator thinking?" Casually he waves an arm, ushering for her to come. Tracks gazed at the two questioningly, but she didn't have the time to think. The cops were approaching, and it was either in or out at the point. Tracks charges towards them, grabbing onto their wrists and pulling them into the train that had just stopped. "OOOOKAY WE'RE GOING NOW," she yells and shoves them in. Her small frame hops into the doorway before it shuts.

Lung filled with cold air finally, and a cheesy smile spreads over her face at the two. The lady's glasses had gone sideways, and the man's hair stood in every direction.

"…hi," she held her hand out, laughing nervously. They stared at it. "I'm Tracks."

"…delighted," the man turned, fixing his hair before awkwardly sitting on the nearest chair. For a moment Tracks felt her stomach sink, but the soft hand of the other brought her some ease. "You may call me Ms. Pauling." A light tone in her humble voice made Track's ears perch, and once again she found herself smiling kindly back. "Ms. Pauling—it's a pleasure meeting you." After their greetings Ms. Pauling escorted Tracks to the booth across the fumbling man. "It's good you were able to make it, Ms. Tracks."

"Yeah, sorry if I worried the two of ya."

"No worries. I didn't doubt you for a second," Ms. Pauling reassured her. "Hmph, blasted…piece of equipment!" Furiously he slammed against whatever was within the suitcase. Tracks winced. "Hey, you alright?"

"Of course not. I'm uncomfortable, this scenery needs to be replaced, the FILM is tangling, and now I'm stuck here with you."

Ms. Pauling smiles. "We've just had a rough flight."

The recruit raises a brow before sitting back and crossing her arms over her chest. Her bag rested calmly near her side. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that, mister…?"

"You may refer to me as _The Director_," he scoffs, and within moments he pulls out a camera recorder. Aiming it for Tracks, she stares wide eyed at the piece of technology. "And we're recording in 3…2…1. Action!"

"What the hell?"

"…" The man rolls his eyes, pressing his sweaty palm firmly against his face. Damn, this woman was such a fool. "This is an interview, child. For your teammates to view upon your arrival to get an understanding of your past, personality, and attributes. So if you'd please answer what I ask this should end rather well. And please, try to stay on the subject and use **smart** answers!" he spoke bluntly and professionally, his thin fingers adjusting the several nods slightly. Tracks narrowed her eyes, wondering what they could possibly do.

"Wait…you guys are my team?"

"W-What?! That's absurd!" the Director laughs slightly at her childish question. The recruit glares, crossing her arms. "Yeah, yeah whatever. Just get on with this crap!"

Red markings painted the walls of a different base from yesterday. The men waited outside a meeting room. Within it, Soldier had been having a private conference with the Administrator.

Through a small television of course.

Scout pressed his ear firmly against the door before a fist bops him outside the head. "Ow, what the fuck yo?!" Sniper crosses his arms and leans his back against the wall. "Keep to yourself, mate. That isn't any concern of yours."

"Uh, hey. Think about what you just said—isn't any concern of mine? If you hadn't realized _Kangaroo Jack_ it probably has to do with all of us," the youngest of the group seemed to have jerked his shoulders threateningly. Sniper would usually give in to these taunts, but this time he just shook his head and ignored the kid. Scout wipes at his nose, "This is bull, man! The broad ain't the one getting her ass kicked every day, and for what?! I say she's full of it!" The German doctor adjusted his round glasses; an exasperated sigh escaped his dry lips. "Ve are all responsible, Herr Scout."

Scout grunts, his tongue running along his gritting teeth. "The hell it is! If someone's to blame I'd point my finger at Pyro! Where was he last fight? Oh, I remember now—he camped his rubbery ass in some random building! Then when we're fighting the BLUs he fuckin' lights US up with 'em!"

"HMMRM RPH!"

"Don't you try it!" Scout threatened, pointing a finger defensively at the Pyro. Heavy and Demo simply watched as the scene grew. Engineer had grabbed the Scout's shoulder and dragged him back. "C'mon, kiddo," he continues to restrain him. "Get off, Hardhat! I can knock you down faster than anyone!"

"Calme."

The room fell silent as Spy backed away from the door. He turns to them. "They are finished," his cigarette hung loosely from in between his lips. Suddenly the door swung open, the Solider stiff and face twisted with suppress frustration. He had been in there for some time now. It had to be serious—so serious that he had been excused from yesterday's battle to go have this meeting. A loud gulp was heard, the Solider clearing his throat before allowing his shoulders to drop. The Spy's eyes remained locked to his concealed ones.

"How extreme is our situation?" the French man spoke, his finger tapping against his cigarette to rid of the ash. Soldier huffs from his flared nostrils. "Ladies, we're all down to hell. If you maggots don't improve we're having our ASSES HANDED TO US." A strange way of expressing it, but they understood nonetheless. Demoman pounds his fist against the wall behind him. "Well, wot exactly are suppose te do?! We run our asses around an' kill, like we always did!" "What did Administrator say?" the Russian bear urged for something specific. Sniper had stared at the group before pushing himself off the wall. "Sittin' here isn't going to help us. Let's get bloody goin'," he grunts, shoving his hat downwards. RED team hadn't hesitated, but they weren't the least bit excited either.

"This is your _last_ chance. Do _not_ fail me, or else."

Once again the fight began the RED team had difficulty working with each other. Sniper gazed through his sights, watching the scene before him. As usual Scout had been shooting down the BLUs in the heart of the map. In fact, he had been stealing a few from the Australian gunman. A low sigh escaped his lips as he kept score. Right now they were losing by two, and the number kept growing. Although Scout, Pyro, and Soldier were getting a handful of kills they were dying almost just as much. As usual Heavy and Medic kept them from going through the center path, while Engineer stationed himself in a nearby corner.

"It is the Scout," a voice had almost forced the Sniper to pull a trigger. He rolls his eyes to the side, his gaze hiding beneath his tinted specs. "What may you think that, mate?" he spoke before pulling the trigger, killing the BLU Demoman. Spy played with his kit, putting together a proper disguise. Sniper continues his hunt. "Spoi, keep an' eye on the damn kid will ya?" Spy obliges, a mask of what seems to be the BLU Scout appearing over his face. Meanwhile the Soldier had been giving out a string of profanity and orders, the Heavy and Doctor giving some temporary cover for him and the Pyro. From the corner of his eye he watched as Scout disobeys him, turning the corner and charging into heavy fire. "DAMMIT, YOU COME BACK HERE SON!" he screams after him. The young man refused, dodging an explosion from a nearby sentry. Demoman, as well, calls after the Scout. If it weren't for him blowing the sentry the kid would have been done for. Confidence radiated through the Scout, his grin wide and toothy as he jumps over the various obstacles. This was the day—he'd show them! All it takes to bring them up was the Scout playing real. Aiming his gun towards the BLU Heavy he pulls the trigger.

CLICK.

Scout's eyes widen—he had been out?! The BLU Heavy, eyes narrowed and arms tense, pulls up his heavy minigun. A bullet pierce's his arm, his body landing harshly. "Shit!" he growls, rolling away and behind cover. "MEDIC!" he calls, the Doctor staring at the boy's distressed state. His grip tightens on his most valuable equipment as he tried to think of a reasonable way over to the Scout. But Heavy had shook his head, pushing the man back before firing at BLU's who tried to pull a sneaky act towards the Scout. "No, Doktor! We stay here!" Scout bit his lip, this couldn't be happening. No one was coming. There way—he was doing good! If he died they'd lose! RED needed two, BLU needed one! They were so damn close—no way was he going to make them lose.

"Scout!" he heard a voice call. Quickly pulling out his pistol, he spots the Engineer waving to him. The sentry was keeping any BLUs from getting to him, his form hiding behind barrels from the BLU Sniper. The Dispenser sat, calling for the Scout for fresh ammo and health. The young man growled at the stinging pain in his arm. Should he go for the run? Bullets ran along the ground near him, making him jump. "HNG!" No, it wasn't safe enough. They were so fucked—they were all so damn fucked!

But then a shadow had been casted before him—someone…somebody…had leaped from the roof above them. Both BLU and RED gazed up, and RED Sniper's eyes narrowed as he pressed his face firmly against the scope of his trusty rifle. He raised a brow and aimed his sights at what they all had been looking at. "What…in the bloody hell?"

Scout gawks at the mysterious figure. "Who the fuck…?"


	4. The Runnning Riot

The Scout didn't know what to think. One second ago he was a goner and shit had really hit the fan. Never before had his heart race this fast—so fast he could throw up. But while he sat in the very middle of the chaos, and BLUs and REDs around him were frozen alike, Scout found himself looking up to see _somebody_ performing a leap of faith from one of the rooftops. Somebody he didn't know.

**_Chapter 3_**

**_The Running Riot_**

Minutes before the fight had ensued, the Director and Ms. Pauling had guided their new recruit via car deep into the heart of the desert. Pushing the door open proved to be almost difficult for Tracks—the suction was strong to ensure the cool air stayed in. A small smack was heard, the car moaning as smoldering heat waved in. Tracks narrowed her eyes—back in Detroit it would get real hot as well. The concrete from the tall, monumental buildings emanated enough heat that the city alone was a giant oven. But this heat was in a completely different category. It waved against her skin dryly, the moisture on her slightly roughened features evaporating from it alone. She could only imagine how hot the sun was. Planting a foot firmly into the sand she realized how firm and compact it felt. Many times a car had driven over it, and had feet galloped along its uneven groves. Not it was completely flat like ballpark clay. Rolling her eyes around she scanned the area—a building stood close by while another was far off in the distance—quite a walks away. From the corner of her eyes the Director had begun marching towards one that consisted of red attributes. "Come along, Ms. Tracks. We haven't got all day, and I'm sure you'd rather be in comfortable air conditioning!"

For a small moment Tracks hesitated—the man seemed very snobbish. But Ms. Pauling placed a hand lightly upon her shoulder and ushered her forward the entire way. Tracks sighed, slightly at ease now. Rarely was she ever nervous about something. Then again her life rarely granted her such opportunities, so any feeling of anxiety was alien to her. Her feet sizzled against the ground—her soles had been so thin that the baked sand easily burnt her heels. She yelps with discomfort, taking skip after skip past the Director until she reached the shaded area just outside of the entrance. Jogging in place she attempts to relieve the discomfort, her face winced and pouting. "HNNNNNNGGGG IT'S HOOOOOT…what in god's name are we doin' here?!" she practically squeaked. The Director rolls his eyes once again, a common action he seemed to display. "This is where your team _works_, Ms. Tracks. There will be a battle that the Administrator has ordered us to accompany you to."

"You mean I'm fightin' _now_?!"

Once again he slaps a palm over his face, dragging it downward to finally tug against his chin hairs. "No. You're just going to _watch_ it. Then we will be introducing you to your team via the Introductory video I so difficultly put together for you! Then again, it's practically scrap seeing as to how you barely asked any questions on your past life." Tracks crosses her arms now, a brow raised. She chuckles under her breath. "It isn't my fault I don't trust you with such information." "I'M THE DIRECTOR YOU'RE SUPPOSE TO TELL ME!" Suddenly Ms. Pauling stands between the two, the doors of the base sliding open. "There shouldn't be a problem. The Administrator is currently in a meeting with the RED team, but after that we will be on a very specific schedule…" she trailed off to scan Tracks. The Director did so as well, spotting the problem. This made Tracks all the more uncomfortable. She wore the same clothes from before—a fitting brown tank top, scratched up jean shorts that ended mid-thigh, along with her torn grey shoes and her leather bag slung across her chest. The Director squeezes his eyes shut—what an animal…

"Unfortunately you're dressed inappropriately. Here you will be assigned an outfit. I have prepared you one over the phone and it should be comfortable based on your attributes. Now then, if you'd follow me," she spoke deep in thought as she entered the cool building. The Director snorts at his final sight at the dirtied woman before marching in. Tracks drops her shoulders, eyes narrowed as she followed soon after. "Attributes...hng."

"Here in TF Industries we ensure to our workers sanctuary, food, hospitality, and most of all long and protected lives. The work you will be doing is dangerous, true, but we assure you that in the end you will be as healthy as when you started before each battle."

"Sounds like alien work if you ask me." A loud shush from the man near her made her jump.

"TF Industries consists of two opposing teams—RED and BLU. You will be assigned into the RED team. Sometimes both teams work with each other on certain occasions, but that is only on particular circumstances. Not all battles have the same objective, but in the end share the same outcome. Only one team will win—the more you win the more money you earn and the less consequences you must befall."

Tracks bit the inside of her cheek as a question popped into her head, but the blasted man seemed to have known and shot her a glace. "...what do I exactly fight with?"

"You are assign three weapons—a primary, followed by a secondary, and then lastly a melee. Not all members have the same—some are armed with devices that are designed by both TF Industries and Mann Corporations based on their specialties." Finally they had reached a hallway adorned with doors. The feel was very apartment based, and Tracks found herself overwhelmed with discomfort. Ms. Pauling stops at the end of the hall, writing upon her notepad before turning the handle to one of the end doors. Inside was a rather plane white room. "This is your room. Your change of clothes are neatly folded on the bed." Slowly Tracks walks over to the clothes and grabs the red piece of cloth. She snickers in her head—red clothes for the RED team, how predictable. A particular part made her raise a brow and she raises it up before her, the cloth unfolding itself. Curiously she twisted her arms to spin it around. A yellow, almost orange and red emblem had been stitched onto the back. Within the yellow ring was a red 'x', followed by a broken line that encircled halfway around the emblem. She peaks over her shoulder. "What's with the picture on the back?"

"That symbol represents you—each member of the team is referred to by their class name and identified by their assigned symbols." Tracks rolled her eyes—it looked like a map on her back. "X marks the spot?" she mumbled, the woman behind her nodding.

"Yes actually. The Director and I had decided on in. We believe it fits the purpose of your class rather well." Tracks grunted, her face long. She could have come up with a better idea—the least she wanted was to become a walking treasure map. But then she noticed how it also adorned each sleeve as well, making sigh irritated. For ten minutes they gave her private to wash up, and another five to allow her to change. Looking at the mirror she couldn't even image the last time she was this clean. The water that drained down was murky and brown as it washed her body, and she could feel herself cringe. It was almost disgusting to think about. In front of the mirror she had grabbed some scissors that sat upon the sink. For a small while she studied herself before trying something. Slowly, with almost shaking hands she cut herself some side bangs. Turning her head side to side she seemed to have enjoyed how they looked. Satisfied she tosses the hair into a nearby trash bin and brushed the bangs with her fingers. Leaving the bathroom she looked around the room—this was _her_ room. Her first room. Sheepishly she smiled, staring at every inch. It was probably boring to the eyes of many, but to her this was amazing. Her uniform consisted of a red tank top much like the one she was wearing, only thicker and embedded with some padding on her sides. Her bottoms were a rich brown, fitting and ended on her knees that were finally topped with black metal knee pads that matched with the ones that cupper her elbows. Her shoes were, much to her surprise, black running shoes. She raised her arms over her head, twisted her torso, and finally ran in place. Everything was surprisingly comfortable. Lastly was her bag. She pulls it over her shoulder and turns the knob of her door. Upon opening it her stomach sank—the two were waiting patiently. A little part of her had wanted to wander on her own, but they had already began to march away. "I suggest you tie your hair up, Ms. Tracks! The Administrator demands a neat and clean look!" the Director announces, leading the way.

"…hng."

As she tied her hair up they entered a new room, filled with blinding white light, was aligned with lockers. "…what's this for?"

"It's a preparations room—this is where RED stores equipment before a fight." The Director scoffs, rubbing his nails along his jacket. "Unfortunately, however, they rarely use it and keep all of their weapons in their rooms." Tracks bit onto her tongue—their rooms? Why their rooms? A symbol, which was disgustingly hers, was printed over a particular locker. Approaching it she scans the emblem. "I'm take it this is mine?" she asks, opening it as Ms. Pauling spoke. "Yes—everything in there will be your equipment only. Inside it is your primary weapon; a MAC-10 blowback machine gun. Good power, a roughly new design from four years ago, and it is light enough for you to run with."

A pinch of red spreads through her cheeks. "WHAT?!" Tracks lifts it up, her face twisted with both shock and disgust before she throws it back in. Jerking back, she shakes her arms frantically, her eyes shut tight. "Are you crazy why are you giving me that shit?!" Ms. Pauling blinks confused. "Is there a problem with it?"

"YES! Wait…NO! No, listen there's nothin' wrong with the gun! It's just I don't use that kind of stuff—don't even know if I could fire the thing!" Ms. Pauling stares for a moment before retrieving it. "If you would like a quick lesson I would be glad to help—it's rather simply really. Here," and with almost professional speed she pulls out the clip, reloads, turns off the safety feature, and then finally aims near the Director and shoots at a nearby target. The man had dived to the side, slamming his thin body against a locker frantically. "MERCY!"

"…" Tracks could only grunt, her expression defeated as she rolls her eyes back into the locker. "What's with the binoculars?" she mutters. Ms. Pauling gives Tracks the gun, and she holds it uncomfortably. "That is your secondary item—you seem to be good at knowing who is where, and that should help you have a good idea on your surroundings. A product of Mann Co. it also is capable of a temporary infrared setting. This setting only lasts for about five seconds before it needs to recharge, and it is capable of sensing through thin walls. Your melee,"

"Are the shin guards…so I'm a kicker."

"Well, upon watching video footage the Administrator had come to notice that you tend to kick any who pursue you. Most of the time they are left incapacitated." Sheepishly the woman laughs at the two, "Yeeaah…it's a last resort kind of thing."

"Regardless it is a good tactic for you—these shin guards are made from fiberglass. They are sturdy and lightweight—they lack the weight that would slow you down like polyurethane." Fiberglass? Polyurethane? If it weren't for those sports kids that hanged around her shake after school she wouldn't understand squat. A woman's voice called overhead—deep and menacing. It cut her ears like a knife. Tracks jerked her head to the ceiling. "That's the voice of that woman who forced me into this!" The Director strides towards the door before urging the two to follow. "Now that you're done here your team is currently fighting. I suggest you do as the Administrator orders and watch them for the time being." With that the two walk down a narrow path and up a flight of stairs—the overhead view within the base was both helpful yet limiting. She could only see so little of it—smalls forms of both RED and BLU shift and scurry around like small ants. Tracks felt a shiver go up her spine.

"This is a complete massacre," she grunts, biting her lip. Is this really what she had to do? People died, but came back. How the hell were they capable of doing such a thing? Regardless they were back—questions just had to be answered but every time she tried the Director would tell her to hush. She puffs up her cheeks before letting out a loud sigh. With crossed arms she taps her foot—from the looks of it they were all very different people. Some big, some small, some with guns some with rocket launchers. Or was that one with a rocket launcher? Suddenly, a particular dot had ran into the action and got himself in a pickle. Her eyes narrow with interest at the sight. Swiftly she gazes at the scoreboard—RED was going to lose very soon. "That guy is gonna get killed," she announced, but earned no answers.

"…isn't someone going to help him?"

"If I could tell the future, dear, I would tell you," the man spoke with a sickening sarcasm. "…so you're telling me my team is losing and I just got here?"

"Oh, they've **been** losing from what I heard—congrats! You've won a spot in the weaker of the two." Her eyes fixated on the scene—the urge to move tempted her. But her brain told her that something bad might come of it. Acting on instinct alone didn't seem to be the better choice. Tracks took in a deep breath, filling her lungs up with cold hair. Besides, she was new here. The Director did say that her chances of being actually wanted there were rather slim—hell, she could get shot for being a woman alone. For some reason she wasn't surprised about it. A handful of dangerous men that could kill without a second thought, and they properly knew how to use a majority of weapons given to them. Her? She couldn't use shit from what she knew. Just your classic dirty fighting; something these men wouldn't even being to appreciate. So why was she getting so hyped up? Why take the chance? Her brown eyes gave into temptation and gazed back at the man in the very center of the map, his struggling all too obvious to her. '_Awe man…_' a finger found its way into her mouth. She bit down against it, deep in thought. What's the worst that could happen? After all, chancing was all she ever knew…

"…Fuck it." The two watched as she turned and darted away. "Ms. Tracks, you're not allowed down there yet!" Ignoring them was easy—the word stop never really worked on her. Remembering her way around the halls made her reminisce of the city she grew up in. Counting each step she found herself in the locker room. Upon grabbing her items she found herself a small issue. "What the hell?" Cursing under her breath she had trouble unknotting the holsters, but time was short. She had settled for running her way down the hall while struggling to pull them on. With luck they slipped over her body, the gun in hand while the rest of her equipment hugged her. Ms. Pauling was right—it wasn't hard to run with the shin guards—in fact, it was as if she didn't have any on. Ahead was an arrow. She figured following it would lead her to the outside. A large door slid up, disappearing into the ceiling. The hot sun blankets the tiled ground. Tracks could tell she was outside now. Her skin tingled from the powerful light, and her eyes struggled to stay open. How she was going to be able to see she didn't even know.

ZOOM!

Her bangs flew up. "AUGH!" Her body came to a screeching halt, sliding along the dirty ground. A bullet flew past her head and penetrated the barrel behind her. "Shit," she cursed under her breath—she couldn't die here. Else they'd lose…and she'd be dead, and it would be her fault. Yes, what a wonderful entrance to her team of fuming men. They'd rip her apart, probably. Now that she thought of it, how do they keep her from dying if she got shot in the head? Another stray bullet flies past her head. "AH!" Her body falls back and rolls into a dark corner. For a moment she remained still, breathing uneven and gun pointing out shakily. No one seemed to have noticed she was there yet. A relieved sigh escapes her dry lips. Nervously she peeks over the corner, jerking from the several strays flying by and landing upon the dusted ground. Just as she had suspected the man was still in the same spot. This time he had been struggling to pull out his pistol. "How do I get to you…" Her mind worked hard for an answer, but the heat seemed to have kept her thoughts of course. Looking up she had noticed something—none of them seem to have thought of an aerial attack. Grunting she releases her gun and hops up, grabbing onto the ledge of the metal roofing. It burnt, her throat tightening and jaw clenching. "Don't let go," she motivates herself and hoists her body up. Balance was hard to achieve upon impact, and she slid against the burning surface. For a moment she feared she had been caught, but after scanning she noticed that the coast was clear. Feet bounced and darted against various metals, woods, and shingles. No one had seemed to look up, but occasionally her shadow caught their eye. A light sight escaped her pressed lips as she panted silently—it was remarkable how lucky she was. Being behind the various chimneys and sharp angles would keep her well hidden. And besides, there was one hell of a distraction down below.

"MEDIC!"

Jerking her head down she finally found the young man calling for a medic once again. "There you are," she huffs, turning the corner and leaping from roof to faraway roof. Her legs reached farther than they have ever stretched. It felt good running up on these things! Landing with a roll, she takes no time for rest and instead aims her body towards the ledge. Regret wells up in the pit of her core—damn this was going to suck. "What the hell am I doing…?" Biting her lip she sprints and leaps off the building into the air, the sound of gunfire somewhat ceasing.

'_Hahah. What am I doing?!_'

Viciously she shook her head. There was no time to think! She was way too far in to take this all back.

_Okay I can do this! _Pointing her gun she pulls the trigger without a second thought, the loud roar of the machine tempting her to squeeze her eyes shut. The two teams took cover, neither knowing what was going on. Her bullets frenzied, messily hitting the ground and forming a cloud of dust. Her eyes widened—she didn't think it would work this well! She lands on her feet, bouncing back up quickly to aim the gun and fire along the walls near the BLUs, pushing them back further. The way she fired this thing almost scared her—it was horribly inaccurate but worked wonders! Orders escaped opponents left and right as the dust engulfed the area fully. Tracks quickly holds her breath, her eyes rolling side to side. What direction she was facing now she hadn't the slightest clue. Dammit, that sucked. "HNG!" A grunt of pain made her ears perch. Turning her head to the side she spots the young man from before gawking up at her. "Hey, are you okay?" she spoke, a bit of worry tainted her words. She approaches him, her gear clanking with every step. Kneeling upon the ground she takes his arm, pulling it to the side to gaze at the injury. "Y…you.." The Scout could only gawk at the sight—a girl came from the damn sky to aid him? Wait…what? His lips parted in shock, but the pain had brought him back to reality. He grits his teeth, one hand grabbing onto the earpiece of his headphones. Scout pulls his arms free, raising it over the two of them out of reach.

"G-GET OFF?!"

Tracks jerks her arms back, eyes wide with shock. "Huh?" she mumbles before leaning back forward again. The Scout glares at her, making her stomach churn. She knew this would happen. Her face turned red, her gaze heated. Before she could respond, a grenade rolls by. Their eyes grew large, and the Scout out of reflex grabs her and pulls the two of them back. The explosion was deafening, the ringing in her ears overpowering. "Fuck…" her voice was scratchy. Pulling herself up she takes a hold of his wrist and earns a growl. "Come on, you have to get up," she struggles to speak, pulling him up and leading him out of the area. But Scout hadn't realized how clueless she was—the hell was the going?!

"HEY, WAIT…GO LEFT!" he calls out, almost insultingly. She hadn't even stared at him. "Okay!" the man yelped when she suddenly yanked him towards the left. He had pressed his palm against his bleeding side, his breathing hitching more and more by the second. He's been bleeding out quite a bit. "Better start sprayin' and prayin'!" A gasp escapes his lips, the stinging pain almost overwhelming him as she pointed her gun to the side and fired at a nearby threat.

The Engineer jumps as the two roll in, watching as the woman had grabbed the Scout and pulling him into the corner. She roughly shoves him near the Dispenser in an act of desperation, the machine healing him.

The boy yelled in pain before falling onto his ass. "GRR…SHIT!" The Engineer continues to stare, jaw dropped at the sight. Questioningly he fumbles with his goggles, his shotgun in hand. "What in the damned hell is going on here?" he spoke, his southern accent catching her ears. Tracks stares at him, and the two had stared back.

"…hi," she pants, smiling sheepishly. Suddenly bullets fly in, causing the three to push themselves into the tight corners. "HOLY!" she yelps, instantly grabbing her gun. But the Scout didn't have the time to deal with this. Refueling his ammo he set back out again. A force grabs onto the notch of his belt, making him stumble. "WHAT THE? LET GO, YOU DUMB BROAD!" He jerks forward, running away with amazing speed. The Engineer cursed, staring after him. _Did he just call me a dumb broad?! That little asshole! _Track's mind raced as her body jumps up and chases after him. The calls from the strange southern man died out from the distance that grew between them. The boy was only a little distance away, and she slowly began to keep up with him as he continued to dodge and leap over obstacles. Taking this chance she leaps forward, managing to dodge several bullets. Her body lands heavily upon his, a yelp escaping his lips as the two rolled along the ground like stray tires. In seconds he laying face up upon her ground, her body landing just above him. The two shook their heads, coughing up dust.

"Augghh…what the?" he spat, but her form mounting upon his hips made his throat tighten. Intensely she glared down at him. "G-GET THE FUCK OFF!"

"Are you insane?! You've got some nerve, you idiot! You barely could even run with that shot wound on your…wait…where did it go?" The Scout's gasps when she pulls his shirt up, her eyes attempting to find the previous spot. But no, there was nothing. Only some blood left over. "This is impossible…so this is what she meant by advanced technology…" she mumbled before he pulls his shirt back down flustered. "What are you an idiot?!" "Excuse me?" The two became stuck in an intense battle, eyes shooting deadly gazes at one another. A shadow then casted over them. The Scout's eyes shift to find the cause, regretting so not long after. "Behind you!" Turning, Tracks gazed up at the BLU Pyro, his flamethrower ready. With her skin pale she rolls off of the Scout, the two lying beside each other now. "Oh shit…"

Menacingly he pulled his weapon over his head and shook it furiously. The two crawl back as he points the nozzle towards them, his muffled breathing a gruesome sound to hear. But suddenly his body froze, a growl of pain rumbling beneath his leather mask. He towers over, landing on the ground with a loud thud. Confusion swirled in their stomachs at the sight of the BLU Scout wielding a butterfly knife. But his body changed, and in an instant the RED Spy gazed down at the two, his eyes locked onto Tracks.

"A girl?"

"HOLY…"

He simply stared before the sound of a yell breaks the moment. "Find cover!" A shower of metal slices through the air at an alarming speed, tearing away at buildings and boxes. The Scout had jumped to his feet, Tracks already running for a nearby corner. But strong arms grab her by the neck and pin her to the wall. The BLU Soldier raises a shovel, much to her surprise. Her eyes darts from his blinded gaze to his shovel awkwardly, her mouth open as is she had something to say. But she was honestly speechless. He, too, seemed confused at the fact that she was there. Yet the timer was ticking, and he hadn't the time nor patience to ask her. Raising his shovel he prepares to bash her skull in, her head shaking the entire time.

"NO, NO WAIT, WAIT, WAIT, WAIT!"

His hand releasing his melee weapon and withered in pain. Tracks turns her head—the Scout struggled to take in air, his shotgun pressed firmly into his shoulder. With that she swings her leg into the BLU Soldier's side, the cracking of his bone ringing in her ears. The man stumbles back, unable to guard himself from her next attack. Taking a hold of her gun she points and pulls the trigger, his body convulsing as the bullets went straight through his chest. The body fell back, the sound of a buzzard ringing in the sky above.

"Victory! Yes, kill _all _of them!

Air struggled to make its way down her now sore throat. So much dust had entered her lungs—something she wasn't used to. But she smiled at the fact that they had won, and during her first day too. Looking up she had expected a friendly thank you or a kind gesture, she found a pair of arms shove her against the very same wall she was just up against. A small yelp escapes her lips as bright blue eyes pierce her very soul. Gulping, she could feel sweat rolling down the side of her cheek. Her hazelnut eyes shiver, her breathing slow now. This wasn't exactly the mean reaction she had in mind.

The Scout twitched at the sight of her sudden grin. Tilting her head she laughs nervously, "…hi." Her raises her arm and watches as he stares at her welcoming palm.

"I'm…Tracker…"


	5. The Running Bigot

Slowly she rubs her thumbs together. With one she small circles against the tip of the other, her eyes locked intently to her nails. Taking in a slow breath she holds it in, attempting to rid of the nauseating feeling that turned in the pit of her empty gut. A loud voice boomed from inside of the room she was near, the door shaking slightly from the argument that continued within. Tracks felt herself jump at the sound of a bang—most likely a fist punching a wall or table. The arguments continued, her heart racing as she listened to every word spoken. "…ugh, what the hell am I doing here," she mumbled as her head hung lose between her legs, arms resting against her knees. She knew this was going to happen.

**_Chapter 4_**

**_The Running Bigot_**

Inside, the RED team had been spread throughout the room. The Administrator, still keeping her cool, had wondered why there was a grand table there in the first place. The damn fools didn't even use it. The Soldier, whom was closest to the television set that sat at the very end of this room, slams his fist against the wooden surface once again. "For the LAST time, Mr. Doe, stop with your incessant beating. Do you even know the value of this table?"

"MA'AM, WITH ALL DUE RESPECT DO NO CHANGE THE SUBJECT!"

"What's the deal with the girl, yo?! She nearly got our asses kicked!"

Raising her thin arm she had successfully silenced the room, her gaze locked towards the Scout. "Seeing your past scores, you hadn't need her help." Her low chuckle made the Scout growl, but a hand had grabbed the back of his shirt. "Hey, let go!"

The Sniper kept his grip, tilting his head to the side. "If you don' mind me askin', ma'am, whose the young seppo out in the hall?" his voice had a bit of impatience. A sigh escaped her lips before she snaps her fingers. The Director, whom had been sitting on the table near Ms. Pauling, stood with his camera in hand. Previously before the meeting he had set up his gear.

"Mr. Mundy, if you'd please," The Director ushered. Sniper obliges, tossing the Scout to the side before flicking the lights off. The Scout growls, his back bumping against the Heavy whom hadn't even budged. Darkness imprisoned them for a moment, their eyes darting from side to side cautiously. Suddenly a flicker came on, an image casted upon the wall. The Demoman stood in the middle of it, the Director's teeth gritting. "Come, come," the German grabbed onto his shoulder, yanking him out of the view. The Scout grits his teeth, arms crossed over his chest. "What the hell is this?"

"Looks like video,"

"No shit, Sherlock." A loud shush silenced the room, the Director's patience wearing thin. Finally he flips a switch, the footage flickering. Pyro had found himself mesmerized by the set, his head tilting to the side with interest. "Mmmrmph phr mmr?" Numbers count down from three to one, and finally the screen flashes red. White font appeared surrounded by black—the outline of binoculars hanged from the corner of his black border freely. The men felt their jaws drop at the sight—this was an introductory video to a new class. The Engineer had pulled his hardhat off, rubbing his gloved hand against his bald head questioningly. Near him, Medic had adjusted his glasses. Could he be seeing this wrong?

"Meet ze Tracker?"

"Meet the wot?"

"SHH!" The video continued, and the Director had prayed that it would answer a majority of their questions. Though he doubted this. The man bit the inside of his cheek as he slams a pencil against his palm constantly, counting the seconds that passed until the end. On the screen she had suddenly appeared, walking before the set and staring at the intro words. Peaking over her shoulder they could see the irritated and dumbfounded look on her face.

_"…is this a joke?"_

The men look back at the Director who groveled in self-pity. He had forgotten to cut that, and worse of all the Administrator had been watching as well. "Just…keep watching it!"

_"W-What do you want me to say? You want me to talk about myself then fine—the name's Tracker…the people back home call me Tracks," _she had been rubbing her hand against the back of her neck, her head gazing from side to side for some kind of inspiration on what to say. The most they could see from it was that she looked uninterested. _"Born and grew up in Detroit, Michigan. Surviving…really was one hell of an ordeal I guess…"_

"DETROIT?! You kiddin' me?! Boston's got that shit hole be-" "BE QUIET!"

_"What else do you want me to say really? My life __**sucked **__I got __**bored**__ so then fate came around and gave me a ticket to this fortune city." _The scene changed to her scaling the side of a building. _"I run fast, I climb fast, and I think fast. Best attribute? My acute sense of knowing when to get the hell out of places." _Suddenly a window flew open, and arms stretched out to hit her. _"WAIT WAIT I'M NO—AHAHH!" _

_"Look I may not be a fighter but I'm sure as hell a born decoy. Other than that I live life takin' chances. Only reason I'm still walkin' on my two damn feet." _The rest of the video consisted of her turning the corner, high tailing away from a handful of police officers. Taking a hold of the camera, you could hear in the video a gasp from the Director. _"GO, GO, GO, NOW, NOW, NOW!" _

_"What if they don't like me? Did you really just ask me that shit? Hell…I don't know. Theycan get over it I guess. All I can say is don't hate on someone you don't know, or you just might get bit." _

The clip ends, a sound of constant humming ringing in their ears. For a moment there was silence until the Demomon groans lowly. "Oh, don' tell me you're runnin' yer arses around and grabbin' every bastard ye see on the street! Look at this! A wee girl, hoppin' herself around the battlefield! Can you imagine?!" he slaps against the Soldier's back laughing at the thought. It was pathetic to the point that even the Soldier found himself chucking. The Demoman wiped the tears that built up in his single eye, his cheeks flushing a bright red. "Ahh…great joke."

"I can assure you this is no joke."

"…WOT?!"

The Administrator earns a sea of complaints. The men had gathered into groups, their opinions heated and reaching the boiling point. Rubbing her fingers against his pale skin she lets out an exasperated sigh. "This is **NOT **an option," they had finally fell silent from her words. The husky Russian points to the television, his voice questioning. "Why do you bring in a leetle woman? Why not a man?"

"The big guy's right—we're better off with a bloke," the Sniper tips his hat up towards the Administrator respectfully. Finally the Scout let out an infuriated growl as he pushed himself off the wall. "This can't be happening—you expect this to work in yet none of us guys seem to even like the broad!"

"I suggest you keep your mouth closed, boy. I haven't finished yet."

"Look, boss, with all due respect an' all…I hate her. **Positively **hate her. She came out of nowhere when I had everything under control and messed us up. Hell, we're lucky we even won today's match!" The Medic nearby had shook his head. "Nein, do not lie Herr Scout. Your actions had nearly cost us all a hefty price."

"You don't know shit Doc! She nearly fucked me over!" A firm hand had grabbed the Scout's shoulder, startling him. The Spy gives it a tight squeeze before cupping his chin. "The girl saved him, but it was out of sheer luck. I doubt the situation would occur again," he had seemed to peak the Administrator's interest. Around them the REDs slowly nodded their heads—it was true. Every meeting the powerful woman had placed, and no matter with whom, eight of the members seemed to have reached similar conclusions. The youngest man from the northern states had been a long running issue. Though he refused to admit it, his small escapades led them all down a deep ditch. The boy's eyes filled with anger, his face flushing at the sight of his team. "Shut the hell up, Frenchie! Look, boss, c'mon you gotta believe me; I ain't the source of the problem here alright? In fact I'm probably the strongest point in this team. Boss, ya want me to hurt the BLUs, hell I'll do more than hurt! I'll kill 'em! Like I've always had! These assholes run around and think they got it all but at the end of the day MY ass is doin' most of the work and makin' a truck load of kills," he attempts to reassure her, this thumb pressed firmly against his chest. But the woman didn't bite. Instead she raised a brow, her eyes gazing behind his shoulder.

"Oh, right on time…come in," her fingers reach up and bend, luring in the mysterious guest. They turn, their eyes locked on a small, dirty form. Tracks stood, her skin still patched with dirt and blood like the rest of them. Her eyes were narrowed, glaring at the television set perched on the table. "…" Taking step after step slowly she passes the various men, her shoulder bumping harshly against the Scout. He growls, but she had ignored him so well that his stomach twisted. Finally she stops before a chair, the air in her lungs trapped. As she had hoped, holding her breath kept her calm. She always did this when she needed to hold her temper. The Administrator held out her arm. "Take a seat, Tracker."

"I'm find standing," she grunts, her jaw itching to bark at something. Slowly she allowed herself to take in a silent breath—the more she heard their words the more angry she had grown in the hallway. The funny part, honestly, was that the little shithead behind her was what made her blood boil more. Biting her lip she awaits for the Administrator to speak.

"I showed them the video. I've informed them of who you are and your purpose here."

"I heard from outside," a tint of sarcasm tainted her words, a very subtle grin on her face. The Administrator leans her head against her palm. "Would you like to speak for yourself? This is a meeting for the RED Team and you are wearing the color after all."

"Oh…I'd love to. Thank you," she smiles, turning on her heel to face the group of men. The side of her mouth subtly twitches as her fists shook. Taking in a sharp breath she begins slowly, her anger concealed. "…I understand you are all uncomfortable with the thought of…_me_. And I ain't gonna lie this is all very new to me! I'm going to be honest, 'kay? I've never worked; I'm not a professional in anything. So, if that makes you uncomfortable I-I get it, I totally get it. **Most **of you are professionals," she shot the Scout a gaze before continuing. "And I ain't. I'm gonna need the time to experience and I apologize in advance if I ever get in your way, really. Buuuut it you all want this to work out…_well_…then I am **very** sure you're all gonna have to pitch in somehow. If not," she sighs, her eyes provokingly rolling towards the Scout. "Then tough luck." The Scout jerks as she tried his patience. As if he had any, however. Balling his fingers inward he stomps over to her and bends slightly to her level. Their faces were mere inches apart. "Wanna run that by me again?"

"Sure thing, cutie. If you don't like me, you're going to have to **deal **with me," she annunciates her words, his face turning red. Did she just call him cutie?! "Oh I'll show you something cute!" he raises a fist, but a firm hand wraps around his wrist. "GAH, LET ME GO YOU FAT SON OF A BITCH!"

"It is impolite to hit women," the Heavy spoke down to him, lifting him up from the ground. Tracks gawks at the sight, her body jerking back as the Scout kicks infuriatingly. For a moment the Heavy locks eyes with her, and she could have sworn her stomach sunk. But a small smile forms upon his grizzly face. Tracks gulps, unable to find words. "Ehh…" A foot plants against her shoulder. "SHIT, LEMME GO!"

"Ugh, get off you brat," Tracks grunts, grabbing onto his ankle and pushing his leg off. Turning around Tracks gives the Administrator a tired look. Raising her arms up some she tilts her head. "Happy?"

"It's amateur. I didn't expect much from your first. You're dismissed—take the rest of the night to settle in. Oh, and as for your first battle—terrible, but better than most. I'm subtly impressed." Tracks cracks her knuckles before spinning on her heel, huffing and blowing her bangs from her face. "Yeah, thanks. Night," she ignores their gazes before stalking out of the room. She slams the door shut, the seats shaking as her steps disappeared in the distance. Engineer let out a long held sigh before placing his hardhat back on. He looks up at the Scout, his face stern. "You should start to consider improving your coarse disposition," he spoke with a smooth tone, as usual. The Scout rolled his eyes—he hated when the bastard would talk with that high and mighty voice. He scoffs, kicking the Heavy firmly upon the chest. After several seconds the man drops him and he lands on his feet. "Whatever. I'm outta here. If you need me I'll be in my room," he storms towards the door.

"Herr Scout, what about dinner?"

"I ain't hungry," the door slams behind his back, much like with Tracks. He screams from the hall. "And I don't need a fuckin' shower either!" Reaching the end of the hall he opens his door, slamming it shut behind him. He hated this feeling—the last time this ever happened was back in Boston when he had a fight with the other mutts in his family. Swiping his thumb across his nose he stomps over to his dresser, pulling off his top. It peels off his skin, the dry sweat and dirt acting like glue on his skin. Pulling it off it falls onto the ground along with his hat and headset. The cold feel of metal tickled his bare collarbone. He thumbs against the tags, kicking off his shoes before falling back onto his messy bed. "Stupid…" he grumbles, running fingers through his hair. There was a reason the Scout left his home, and that small moment with her made him feel like he was stuck back in it all again.

_Why are you letting this bother you—it's not like you've known her your whole life. _

A good point the Sniper made before the meeting. Scout was fuming, and if it weren't for him and Engineer he might have started a fist fight with her. But hell, he **really** didn't want her to get in this. He really wished she wouldn't. Meanwhile Tracks had been in a similar position.

Pulling her sweaty shirt off was like peeling her skin off, her tank top still clinging against her trunk. Pouncing on her bed she presses her face against the pillow, her sweaty feet kicking off her shoes and abandoning them somewhere beside her once clean bed. Rolling to the side she faced the wall, lying silently. Though she tried convincing herself she couldn't bring herself to eat or take a shower even. It was best to avoid…_them. _Embarrassment was one emotion she didn't expect to feel. Yet, it was there welling up in her head like a tumor. "…I get it," she chuckles to herself. It was ironic; the first time she tried taking responsibility for something it starts out shitty. It was easy to walk out the door, regardless of consequences, but why be a quitter when there's more at stake? She wanted to ask herself what she was doing there.

Pointless question really. She knew why. The real question was how she was going to do this.

"Hnnnnng," she groans and slams the pillow over her face. Not now she thought to herself. Don't think about that stuff now. All that mattered was learning how to do this 'job'. Closing her eyes she tried here hardest to fall asleep. The sound of distant discussions and metal skidding along tiled ground rung in her ears, but its attempts to keep her up were fruitless. Her time in the field has proven otherwise how good she was at sleeping during home games.


	6. The Running Adversary

_Bump. Bump. BANG! _

Tracker's eyes flutter open. Her pupils dart about the dark room. Raising an arm she rubs her eyes—everything was so damn blurry. Bright light shined through the various spaces between her red blinds, and that only made matters worse. With one swift jerk her body yanked itself into a sitting position. Dust drifted calmly through the stale air, their paths constant and never ending. Another loud noise boomed through the halls. The small specks of dust flew frantically through the air. The blinds shivered, causing the light that shined against the wall to blink. Tracker narrowed her eyes—perhaps this place wasn't as quiet as she would have hoped for.

**_Chapter 5_**

**_The Running Adversary_**

Upon pulling herself out of bed she quickly pulled on some random clothes. When she had arrived yesterday morning Ms. Pauling took her Detroit attire from her. Tracker asked when they would be returned, and Ms. Pauling had said tomorrow afternoon. 7:00 hours—she had to wait until then. Digging in her bag she managed to find a white tank top. No pants. Sighing she settled for her uniform bottoms. However, after further analyzing the dirtied ones from yesterday she managed to find a small hole on the thigh area. Sticking her finger through it she sighed defeated. What was she going to wear? The brown dresser along the opposite wall caught her eye. Perhaps there were clothes in it?

That morning seemed to start out rather good. Inside were several other pairs of very same pants. Pulling open more she found even more copies of her uniform's shirt, socks, and even a second pair of similar shoes. Her brows furrowed—the lack of originality made her feel rather disappointed. Pulling the bottoms on she heads for the door. Her body hesitated before pushing it open. Silence adorned the halls. Taking a step out she shuts the door quietly behind her as if worried she would alert anyone nearby. Walking down the hall alone was another uncomfortable feet—the doors she passed felt as strange as the gravestones in an old cemetery. They had a haunting aura to them that pulled her curiosity. Something inside of her made her pace quicken—she didn't mind that however. Knowing who owned what room was the least on her mind. To be honest she had just wanted food. The emptiness in her stomach grew since yesterday. Not one bit of sustenance entered her system ever since she was last in Detroit. The noises grew louder, the occasional banging transforming into various voices and clanking metals. Without a second thought Tracker entered what seemed to be the mess hall, and was suddenly overwhelmed with silence. The men, whom were seated around the room, stopped whatever they were doing to observe her.

"…"

Tracker blinks, her teeth taking hold of her tongue and nibbling against it. Such an awkward silence. To be honest she had thought that they would assume she left last night. Perhaps this was why they were quiet? Tilting her head she rolls her eyes to scan the crowd. Though they were all the same in her eyes they seemed to have rather distinctive qualities about themselves. Remembering who they were wouldn't be too difficult. With a stern gaze she marches over to the end of the mess hall, a serving table sitting with hot food. Surprisingly they knew how to cook. She grunts, unable to accept this new found knowledge. Upon reaching the table her eyes widen—there was enough food for one more person! A small smile crept its way in as she prepared herself a plate. The coworkers could be asses, but food was enough to bring her hopes up. Taking her plate she turns to find there were no isolated tables. _Crap, plan B then. _Tracker bit the inside of her cheek, her mind wandering for any solutions to this problem. None came to mind but plan B—she was better off eating in the hallway. Huffing she makes her way for the door, but suddenly a low grumble caught her attention. Turning her head she spots a heft man, his form tower from the area he sat in. Raising his hand up he twitches his fingers, luring for to come over. A dry lump suddenly appears in her throat, and she struggles to swallow it down. "….aheh," laughing nervously she takes step after step towards the man. Muscles tensed and sweat threatened to bead over her skin as their proximity lessened. Finally she reaches the table, her grip on her plate so tight to could practically snap the ceramic into two clean halves. The Heavy reaches down and pulls a seat out. Tracker blinks. "Huh?"

"Sit," he offers.

Her face adorned pure shock, and she could feel her spine shiver when the table chuckled at her response. "Come, Fraulein. Ve von't bite," another man assures her. Nodding she takes a seat. The Heavy pushes her seat in, her body jumping in shock. Anxiety swells within her gut again, but she managed to keep it hidden. "...thanks. Wasn't expecting hospitality," she admitted with a dead glance. Before her the four men had begun to talk about random topics, most of which pertaining to tactics that the man they called 'Soldier' had developed. She had found herself interested in their discussions, but the damn feeling in her pit kept her from chowing down. Raising her fork filled with egg she freezes, the utensil half way to her mouth.

"The bloody bastard's goin' about thinkin' his plan'll work like gold, and when it blows off we're the ones he threatens to chop up,"

"Ja, but can you blame him? Ze Administrator has been giving him quite a difficult time."

"Good point—she's been at it so much the bloke's missed his brekkie."

"What does brekkie mean?"

"Breakfast, mate. Means breakfast." The Heavy's eyes widened, astonished. Suddenly he laughs loudly, and Tracker jumps, dropping her utensil. "All this time you say, and I did not know!" His large hand pounds against the Tracker's back. She grunts, surprised, her expression stirred. Hunched over she ignores the sudden pain that overwhelmed the length of her spine.

"Oh, sorry," he apologizes, patting softer this time. The woman nods, an awkward grin upon her face. "Nah…it's okay," she sighs, straightening herself. Gathering her utensils she attempts to eat again. The men stare. One in particular wore sunglasses—why indoors she hadn't the slightest clue. He places a palm upon his hat and tilts it slightly. "G'mornin', Sheila." Tracker raises a brow—what did he call her? Nevertheless she shrugs it off. "Likewise," she clicks her tongue, earning a chuckle. After several seconds of her cutting up the egg he had reached his arm over the table.

"Snoipa," he introduces. A subtle smile charms her face as she reaches over and shakes his hand firmly. "Tracker." He tilts his head, "Good grip."

"Ehh, I try," she chuckles, releasing him. Clearing his throat the man leans forward, slightly chatting with his hands moving along. "Listen, Sheila. About yesterday, I apologize for actin' like cat's piss and wot not. I'm pretty sure you overheard our little conversation from the hall." Oh no—she had hoped they wouldn't bring this up so quickly. Taking a large cup of water she shakes her jaw. "Nah, didn't bother me." Truly it didn't, she just hated the process of apology. To her it was a waste of time, and in this case a waste of breakfast. Sniper chuckles. "You're tough—we like that. To be honest, we're all professionals. Been in the business for quite some time. Seein' a youngin' like you joinin' really wasn't much expected. So you couldn't really blame us for bein' knockas." Tracker's expression slowly grew low—true he used strange analogies but she wasn't an idiot. Luckily the German had noticed this. "Vat Herr Sniper means, my dear, is that ze four of us apologize for ze rude experience last night. Ve hope to change any bad impressions we've made onto you," he takes a sip of his drink. The young woman nods, "I know. Really, you don't need to worry about that. The past is behind us, that's why we refer to it as the past. Let's…get all of this behind us and take the opportunity to start over. What do you say, mate?" she looks to Sniper, who only chuckled as a response. "Aye, I like that."

Taking in a breath she suddenly places her fork down. "So, let's get this over with so we don't need to keep wondering," she clasps her hands together, rubbing them. "You're the Sniper," she points to said man, whom nodded in response. "Great, I won't forget that. How may I refer to the rest of you all?" her gaze shifts from one to another. Lucky for her the morning was a better start than she could even imagine. The man with a mask holds his hand out. He hadn't spoken the entire time, but his gaze showed that he had been interested. Taking her small palm he plants a very soft peck upon it. "You may call me Spy."

Tracks had froze, the lump in her throat dangerously swelling again. "Well, you're…rather polite," she rubs the back of her neck. His grin as a response made her skin pale. Whether she felt flattered or embarrassed he wasn't sure, but his very keen senses told him both. "Pardonnez-moi," he seemed to have apologized, still smiling at her form. She retracts her arm, drumming her fingers against the table. "What? Ah, I understand. It's alright. This is all just very…new to me," she encircles her fingers around the table, referring to their current position. Spy rubs his chin. "You are not social with men?"

"Huh? No, no I am. It's more so the…compliments." The men gave her strange looks. Her shoulders drop. "Never mind! Please continue. You, sir. Who are you?" she shakes the German's gloved hands.

"Ahh, Medic. I am ze Doctor of this facility," his voice had annunciated the many consonants. Finally she turns her gazes to the largest man of them all. He takes her hand, nearly crushing it. "Hello, small Tracker! You may call me Heavy!" his voice was booming. Tracker gasps as he releases her, her arm practically crippled. "Ohh…izvinite. I am sorry," he spoke, and though his words were deep and raspy it took time to learn when he was being genuine. Tracker let out a nervous laugh, but upon shaking her arm viciously she flexes it. "See? Good as new! No stress, big guy, I'm pretty durable." For a moment the Heavy had given her an unsure glance, but her grin has proven otherwise. Once again, much to her liking, he was laughing loudly. "Good! You are good—I like you already leetle woman," he pats her back roughly again. Her gut slams against the edge of the table. Earning rather embarrassed looks from the other men she pushes herself up shakily. It was way too early for all of this. Rubbing her now sore abs she takes her fork once again. This time determined to eat. "So are all of you going to be welcoming?"

"I assure to you they will. Soldier may seem rough, and the Demoman can appear rude."

"Spoi is right—then there's Engie. You gotta love 'im. Real smart, an' unless you botha him he won't botha you. The Pyro looks real crazed, I agree. But in actuality he's one hell o' a dipstick." She found herself raises a brow at the Sniper's words, but the Spy had caught her attention again. "Keep in mind this is just their being—we will all grow to accept you more over time," the Spy's words would be reassuring if she hadn't been so food deprived. The Heavy nods. "Good thing about being woman—_very _likeable," he pops an entire slice of a loaf into his large mouth. With a sideways grin Tracks forks another piece of an egg and raises it to her lips. "Ahah, that's a relief. And here I was starting to worry!"

Suddenly the doors leading to the mess hall slam open. The form of what appeared to be the youngest man of the bunch marched sluggishly towards the serving area. Tracker stops, the fork mere millimeters from entering her starved mouth. She blinks, eyes locked onto his form. "...what about him?" she points her fork to the Scout, the egg flopping greasily. The sound of a tongue tisking made her head turn. Her eyes met the Medic's. "Zat, I suggest, ist someone you shouldn't be wary of Fraulein." Biting her tongue she sucks onto it, making a small squeak noise. "You don't say?"

"That's the Scout, now listen here," the Sniper leans in, and Tracker leans towards the center of the table with him. He points to the young man whom hadn't noticed. "Scout's you're average bloke. Tough, likes the action, sometimes can be one hell o' a dill. But, when you get 'im angry he'll be as mad as a cut snake—bite ya till you bleed. Otherwise, the bastards just annoyin'." The Sniper pulls himself back into his chair, the Tracker still staring at the subject. "How old is he exactly?"

"According to my files that I have gathered from weakly check-ups, Herr Scout is around 20, maybe more." The young woman chuckles some, her small body leaning against the heavy whom surprisingly didn't mind. "How ironic. I'm around 20."

"True, but his head ain't where yers is. That's why you shouldn' be worried about 'im. Whacka's full of himself," the Sniper grunted. Obviously he seemed to have disliked the lad. After several seconds the young man had picked up a plate and grazed the serving table only to find nothing available. Cursing he scans the room, his eyes locking onto her. _Shit. _Keeping her eyes on the plate she blocks out the man. Hopefully if she didn't look he wouldn't come, but the other REDs around her crushed her hopes. "Shit, Scout's comin'."

"He ist usually a morning person. He vould be boasting of himself to us by now."

"Ehh, do not worry he is nothing but leetle man. Worse he can do is scream and kick."

"I doubt we're the ones he is targeting. _Le fou _has his eyes on another," the Spy teases, only laughing when he hears the Tracker's small grunting. A shadow casts upon her, pulling her gaze up. Meeting a pair of blue eyes the Tracker found herself smiling kindly. "Hello," she greets him tiredly, his face dull and impatient. "…not a morning person are you?" her light laughter made him growl.

"You mockin' me?" he crosses his arms, his stature rather egotistical. Tracker puts on a shocked look, raising her arms up in defense. "Not at all—I'm actually…well…trying to do the opposite," she laughs nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. Scout became rather staggered, his eyes wide for only a split second before he shook his head. Raising his plate up he slams it on the table, making her cringe at the irritating noise. "Ya see this?" She simply stared, eyes drifting off into the desolate plate. "Small meal you got there, bub." He growls. "You **took** my food."

"…oh really? I don't believe it has your name on it," she chuckles. Her attempts to kind up the situation were futile. The Scout grits his teeth before cracking his bandaged knuckles. "You ain't a member in my book. The food was cooked for nine members, and all I see are nine members and a broad!" Oh how she knew where this was going. Feeling her heart sink only made her the angrier. So, as always, she held her breath in. Ignoring his constant ranting she takes her plate and stacks it on top of his. The Scout stops midsentence. "…what the fuck are you doing?"

"Go on. Take it, it's yours I don't want it," she murmured before pushing her form up sluggishly. The look on his face actually startled her—it was as if he hadn't expected her to give in this easily. As she attempted to leave the man blocks her way. "Where you goin'?" Tracker gave him a gaze that made his shoulders twitch slightly. Tracker's arms itched to shove him.

_Stop it, stop it, stop it!_

Her shoulders slung down, her eyes locked onto his. "Look, I'm sorry I took your food kay? I don't wanna fight." Unfortunately he didn't buy it. Instead the Scout gained a flare of confidence. "Awe, I get it. You're scared! I don' blame you, seeing as to how you're a girl an' all," he grins proudly at himself. It was almost sickening. "Wha? N-No, you got it all wrong," she stutters. Raising his arm he flexes it, and she couldn't help but stare shocked. His grin only grew. "…pretty cool huh? Just imagine what's under the rest of all this," he backs up, chuckling before patting his palms against his puffed up chest. Tracker could only raise a brow—what the hell was this kid talking about? Shaking her head she pats his shoulder. "Keep tellin' yourself that cupcake," were her last words before she gives him a sharp glance. The Scout frowns almost instantly, his teammates around the room laughing as she walks away. "…woah woah woah, what…did you just call me? _Cupcake_?"

"Yup."

"Oooohoho! I'll show you how sweet I can be dollface!" he spat mockingly. Tracker stops just as she reached the door. Slowly her head turned to the side, itching to glare at the fool that stood behind her. "Awee, sorry! I don't hit _girls_." Pushing the door open she walks out, leaving the mess hall and the loud laughter that erupted within it.

Seeing as to how she skipped food she took the remainder of the morning to take a shower. The Scout failed to cease their laughing. Infuriated he flops down onto his chair and had been stabbing at his food, practically fuming. The men on the table stared at him, each not knowing what to say. "…Scout," the Sniper finally started. The Scout grunted as a response, not really hungry anymore. For a moment the Sniper and Spy gazed at each other before looking back to the troubled youngster. "You're usually yabberin' yer mouth at this hour."

"So?"

"Did you sleep vell?" the Medic asks him, earning a glare. "I slept fine, Doc. Alright?" The Medic simply nodded as a response, going back to his cup of coffee. Scout hadn't thought anything of it, but suddenly the Heavy slams his palm against his back. "You look bothered, leetle man." Leaning in the Heavy whispers into his ear. "If you'd like, I let you shoot Sasha for few seconds, ehh?" he elbows his side temptingly. The young man gave him an almost horrified look before slapping his large arm away from him. "Yo, back up man cut me some slack! No, I don't wanna touch _Sasha_, alright? Thanks but no thanks," he grumbles. The Heavy seemed disappointed at this, his form leaning back onto his chair awkwardly. Placing a large palm on his side he scratches. "Okay, but your loss." Scout allowed himself to gaze into his plate again—everything had been pre-chopped by _her_ into mess pieces and jammed together. He didn't really care, he would have still eaten it. And from the looks of it she never took a bite yet. But it was rather haunting to look at. She mixed the food together much like he did, and he always sliced his eggs up into triangles like this. Plus, she crushed the bacon into small pieces and shoveled the load into the fried rice. His face stiffened at the sight—it looked like how he'd prepare it. Slowly he pushes it away, his face troubled from the sight. Rolling his eyes up the Scout catches the Spy giving him a strange eye. It was as if he were observing him. "…what?"

"Nothing." The man stood ominously, his eyes shining with a strange intent. Someone spiraled in his mind, and the thought made the Scout's skin crawl. But what was he going to do? Shove the man into the wall and force him to talk? The Spy would slap him to another state—besides, what was there to dig for? The man probably wanted to know why he was so irritated during the mornings. It was usual for the Scout if they day before was a drag. Otherwise he's up and at it like an attention-craved superstar. Leaning back against the wooden chair the Scout pops a certain point in his back that had been aggravating him. A relieved sigh escapes his lips before he licks them. "So, what's up with you?" he attempted conversation with the Medic. The man tugs his gloves before speaking. "Vork—ze usual. You haven't slept vell last night I presume?"

"That obvious huh?"

"Hmm. I admit yesterday vas quite strange. Do not let it bother you Herr Scout. By ze way, you have an appointment at 15:00," a sickening smirk stretches over the Medic's face as the young man before him jerked in his seat. "Awe, c'mon Doc we did this shit last week!"

Ending the conversation, Scout stands up. His legs bump against the table causing his plate to hop. He snatches it midair. "I'm eating in my room." With that he makes his way into the hallway, stalking down the long corridors. Lazily he stabs at the pieces of food and slides them into his mouth. Sometimes he had forgotten to chew and just swallowed the pieces whole. Reaching door he turns his knob and enters the dark area. Suddenly, the sound of a creak caught his ear. That was strange—the room in front of his was vacant. Turning around he spots a figure standing in the neighboring doorway. Tracker's wet hair clung to her face, her clothes fully on and her hand scrubbing against the back of her head with a fresh white towel. The two freeze, gawking at each other.

Scout growls, "Awe FUCK man, you're my neighbor?!"

"That's **your** room?!"

"Fuck this!" they seemed to have both said together. Enraged from this the two give the other a heated glare, their faces flushed. Turning against each other they slam their doors shut in unison, their locks clicking at the same time. Though they would have training later, they would take all the time _away_ from the other as they possibly could.


	7. The Running Instigator

Waking up in the mornings during the past week was thought to be the biggest pain. 5:00 in the morning to be exact. The Soldier would stomp the bedroom hall with a pot and ladle, slamming the two together to produce the loudest clank they all could imagine. He would have used the overhead system to yell them awake, or even used the fire alarm system to send them to the roofs. But today he had decided to perform something more hands on. Tracks rubs her eyes, a low growl escaping her chap lips. "Shut aaaaap," she groans, rolling over. Grabbing her pillow she presses it into her flushed faced. "Nnnnnng why meeeee…"

**_Chapter 6_**

**_The Running Instigator_**

Outside the sun has proven to be a true force. Tracks always believed that the early morning gave off the most blazing heat, but this was brutal! The REDs stood in a straight line, their gear fully on and ready to be used. Before them the Soldier walked an imaginary line, both of his arms tucked firmly into the curve of his back while his chest puffed out. Sweat beaded off everyone's foreheads, their bodies baking by the minute.

"ALRIGHT, MAGGOTS. LISTEN UP! IN THE PAST WEEK WE'VE SUCCEEDED IN WINING FOUR OUT OF THE SEVEN TIMES. NOT GOOD ENOUGH LADIES! TODAY WE WILL BE TRAINING THE REMAINDER OF THE MORNING INDIVIDUALLY. ONCE WE HIT NOON WE WILL BE RUNNING AN **EXTREME **ALL OUT TRAINING SEQUENCE. THERE WILL BE **PAIN**, THERE WILL BE **BLOOD**, AND MOST OF ALL THERE WILL BE _TEARS_!"

Leaning in, his helmet presses itself against Tracks's forehead, nearly sizzling the perspiration off of it. "I haven't seen you cry yet, **Tracker**," his voice grumbled lowly. She gulps as he pulls himself away from her. "EVERY INCH OF YOUR MUSCLES WILL ACHE, AGAIN! AND EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY WILL BREAK, AGAIN! If it doesn't…YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG!" He retrieves his whistle, blowing harshly into it. Almost instantly they scatter, performing their various trainings. Tracks watched after them, her form still glued to the spot. A throat cleared itself. Turning her gaze she stares to the Soldier. "WHY ARE YOU NOT TRAINING, TRACKER. DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM?!"

"W-Well, you see it's been a week and I'm not sure if I'm doing this whole…_training _thing right, aheheh."

"I DO NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR LIFE STORY, NOW GET GOING! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!"

Her eyes widened as she stumbles back, her feet piercing too far into the sand. Falling over she rolls off the hot ground, cursing and yelping with every painfully burning step and stumble. Finally she found herself racing away through the sand, a trail of dust behind her. With screaming lungs she struggles for breath. The air was hot, so it was difficult to inhale. But a sight in the distance caught her eye. While the Sniper shot down faraway mannequins, Engineer practiced his building, and others did their many other forms of training, the Scout did his running. He ran through the length around the base, his gun slung to the side while his arms swiftly matched the movement of his lean legs. Such speed was beyond remarkable. His training, in her opinion, looked to be the most devastating. At least that's what she had observed in the past week. At first it seemed perfect—running was easy for her! But when she had tried to train with him he had told her to scram. Determination coursed through her veins as she sped up. The sand was difficult to run in; this was nothing like the flat streets of Detroit. But through the course of the week she came to realize how easier it slightly became—she had to try and learn something new anyway. Never did she race through bump terrain, nor in weather or temperatures to this degree. It took her a while to convince herself to not go up against the Scout, not matter how much she wanted to leave him in the dust. In the end she convinced herself that he was just a punk, and being infuriated by him was no better than losing. Taking her time and patience she practiced different ways to maneuver. None of it seemed to be working, because Tracks found herself on the ground again. Sand enters her dry mouth, and she coughs it out viciously. "…shit," she growls, sitting herself up. Exhausted pants escape jaggedly as she watched her comrades work. They were flawless, and she was already on the ground after an hour. This was embarrassing. A sudden burst of shade casted over her—a pair of legs spread open above her head, leaping over her hunched form. The Scout continued his jog, his gaze glued forward. Had he noticed her she wasn't sure, but she was sure on something. His steps were rather large. "…nah," she tries to abandon the idea, yet temptation gave in. Pushing herself up she forces herself to work again.

Now wasn't the time to give up. This was just training, and she had just started. She couldn't falter this easily she had too many promises on her plate. Taking a small step forward she begins with a light jog. "Pace yourself," she huffs. Verbally she counts her steps—the baseball boys back in Detroit would do it. She wasn't sure why, but she could remember the young kid back at the park telling her some helpful advice once.

_Hey Tracks, did you know that counting while running makes you breathe more? _

A small smile brightens her red face—it had to be true, because she wasn't as light headed as she was a few minutes ago! Keeping her count she allowed herself to speed up little by little overtime until finally she was jogging. Her ponytail swings, fanning her back slightly and giving her a small bit of comfort. Her chest and shoulders were smeared with fresh sweat, patches of her red tank top becoming a few shades darker from the sweat. With her chest heaving up and down she continued to count. In the distance she could hear the yelling and screaming of her comrades, explosions and gunshots following soon after. A bullet flies by her head, shooting down a dummy next to her. Her body skids, nearly rolling to the ground. "HOLY…" Her head snaps to the side, the Sniper giving her an apologetic wave. He had forgotten that she wasn't used to this. Give him a sarcastic laugh she continues, face low. A form sprints past her.

"Huh?"

The Scout, soaking in sweat, was far ahead of her in just seconds. "…awe, fine then!" Giving in to her temptation she runs after him. First she stumbled, but watching his form had made her remember something helpful. Big steps, big breaths. With farther steps her distance increased, and in no time she was closer. The man behind before her hadn't noticed she was next to him. Listening to his breathing she was rather amazing at how fast his lungs could work. "You ever notice you're like a hummingbird?" she spoke casually next to him. His eyes widened as his head snapped to the side to gaze at her. "What?!"

"I said, you're like a **hummingbird**! Don't tell me you don't know what they are!"

Glaring he turns his head forward again, her rather blunt tone pushing him away. Tracks watches after his quickened body. "Hey!" she calls after him, but he didn't reply. Instead he sped up. Trying her upmost greatest didn't seem to be enough. The Scout had run though this land for years—he was used to this. Tracks was more than just unfamiliar—she was practically foreign. Her body began to shake, her muscles tense. Giving in to the stress she forces herself to stop, the momentum nearly knocking her down. "Hah….hah….aaah," she gasps for air, sweat rolling down to the tip of her chin and dripping off. Hitting the ground it evaporates instantly. Her voice cracks, lungs wheezing for previous oxygen. With shaky hands she wipes her forehead. The slimy liquid coated her palms. Standing straight she rubs her palms against the hips of her pants, the liquid leaving a temporary mark. "…pppphhhhew," she lets out a loud sigh before hissing through her teeth. "…damn it's hot."

A sudden force knocks her to her side. "AHH!" The Scout, whom just circled the base again, had slammed against her viciously. His stature hadn't falter and he gazes over his shoulder to shoot her a mocking glance. Mumbling she sits up, one hand rubbing her aching side while the other her beating head. "Fuckin'…asshole." Oh how she wanted to punch him, but instead she grabbed a handful of sand and threw it forward. A gust of wind catches it and blows it back towards her, the small golden grains embedding themselves into her eyes. Tracks yelps in shock, her body slapping the ground hard once again. The Sniper could only watch though his scope, his head shaking at the pathetic scene. "That Shiela's a real dill, too."

Taking her time with the last few hours she allowed herself to remain more isolated from the Scout. She took a run through the obstacle area. Having remembered that this was currently an intense training field for the more gun-oriented men she had managed to take the calmer spots for herself—climbing, jumping, hoping, and dropping. Each building was being scaled and conquered by her. Her speed wasn't amazing, but the effort she put was enough to make the Spy and Engineer stop for a moment. The two watched as she pulled herself up, the young lady nearly losing her grip and falling. Luckily she caught the edge just above the previous and she pulls herself up casually.

"She's slow," the Spy mumbled.

"Slow and steady wins the race—not quite my philosophy but I've never needed to make it a…personal…habit," the Engineer went back to his wrench and sentry, the banging and clanking timed with her climbing. Spy notices this, his fingers rubbing together. "She's counting?" he ponders the reason.

"A habit," the Medic chimes in, his hands adjusting his most prized machine. "It ist viewed as many things—a habit, a safety mechanism, psychological training."

"So she's crazy er somethin'?" They turn to gaze at the Scout, his bandaged hands gripping onto a towel. He pats his face down, his body bouncing slightly as adrenaline pumped through him. Medic shakes his head, "Nein, she isn't insane she ist simply a careful and precise person." The Scout shifts his sights up to stare at Tracks. She had finally reached the top, her legs dangling over the side of the building as she leaned back for much needed rest. "Nah. Looks like your ordinary chick if you ask me. She's been sucking since day one," his words were very sure. Raising his hands on either side of his mouth he calls up to her.

"YO, CUPCAKE! YOU SUCK!"

Pointing he gives her a snobbish laugh, the young woman rolled her eyes before lifting up a certain finger to him. The Scout hadn't even noticed the disapproving gazes of the three men before him. Furrowing his brows he returns the gesture. "Yeaah, that's right cupcake keep ignorin' me! Ahahah, man, you guys should see the look on her face! Seriously look at it, it's freakin' hilariOW!" A fist bops the side of his head hard, a painful bruise setting in. For a second his hand flops to the side, his headset shifting unevenly. The Sniper passes him, his face monotonous. "Keep yer mouth shut, bloke. Else you'll settle fer what you're messin' with." Calmly the Australian raises his sniper rifle and scans the clip, making some mental notes. The Scout fixes himself up, cursing the entire time. "Awe c'mon don't tell me you're defending the chick now," the youngest one huffs. Just then a whistle blows off, signifying that it was noon. The RED team regroups, Tracks limping over. Then men gaze at her, Heavy being the first to offer assistance. "Are you hurt, Tracker?"

"Nah…my legs…are just sore," she grunts, her breath staggered as she stops before them. The sight was rather messy—it looked as if she had fought the entire day. Parts of her were skidded slightly with subtle cuts. The skin on her palms had begun to crack, and her fingertips were red and blistered. Cautiously the Heavy held his arm near her swaying form. He would prove to be the best support. The Scout runs a sticky palm along his face. "You're kidding me—look at her she can't even take a damn jog!"

"I…climbed too, you asshole!"

A snort erupts from his throat. "Like that's freakin' hard. By the way, your bird finger's a little rusty. Why don't you train that, _Tracker_?" Tracks rolled her eyes, but the Heavy gave her a small tap. Gazing up she noticed the reassuring look on his face. Lightly she gives out a tired chuckle, her shivering palm patting his large biceps. Turning her head to smiles to the Pyro, whom breathed back threateningly. "AHH," she chokes on her words upon seeing her flection on his mask's lenses. Tilting his head he watches her with a dangerous looking curiosity. "Mmmrh mmfh?"

"…sure," she had no clue of what his words were, but the situation just screamed for yes as an answer. But the moment he grabs her wrist and pulls on her she had found herself regretting the yes. The Pyro pulls her away, her legs frozen and body stiff as a board. Her body dragged away, a mark forming against the ground as dust flew behind the two. Scout felt himself grin as he wringed his towel up on the Demoman's shoulder. "Huh, what do you know? Fate must love us guys 'cause I doubt we're gonna see her again!" Reaching a particular spot within the base the Pyro releases Tracker. Her arms fall to her side, a red mark where his grip had last been. With his flamethrower in hand he raises it up. Tracks jumps, her hands raised before her protectively. "Ahh, wait a minute wait, wait!" Much to her surprise he turns, walking forward to trigger a plank cutout of the BLU Soldier. Aiming his deadly weapon he sends out a thick stream of pure fire, the heat burning the target to ash. Tracks watched, both in curiosity and fear. This man made her shiver—he seemed to have no passion for anything but fire. But inside was the interest of a child, and Tracks didn't know if that was most human or sickening part about him. A pile of ash sat smoldering upon the ground. Turning his masked face he gives her a look, his breathing audible. "Hmmrph rph?"

"…" Nodding she watches as he raises his gloved hand and asks her to approach. Though she didn't want to she made herself do so. Once again the Pyro produces muffled sounds, his arms lifting his weapon and bouncing it subtly. "Oh, right," the mumbles and draws out her MOCK 10. Stepping into the room a BLU figure pops up and startles her. "AHH!" she screams, her finger pulling the trigger and swinging the gun side to side in a panic. The BLU figure stood still before falling apart. The pants, gasping for air, her eyes blood shot. Slowly she looks to the Pyro.

"MMMRPH!" He gave her thumbs up—he was genuinely happy about her attack. The spray and pray, at least what she called it, wasn't considered a clean move. But a thought hit her head—that was exactly how the Pyro did it. He set out a stream and swung his sights everywhere to his hearts' content. For him it was a godly move—for her it was practically suicide. _At least it worked this time_. Sighting she takes a step forward, another BLU popping from the ground. Tracks stares at the figure, a grenade launcher pointing straight for her. Then it hits her.

Where would be the smartest place to hit first?

Narrowing her eyes she raises her armored leg and swings it forward, her shin crashing into it. Swiftly she rips off a portion, the painting of the BLU Demoman's gun flying across the room. A clap was heard. This nearly startled her. The Pyro had been clapping his hands like a small child, his shoulders pressed inward and his body bouncing up and down so very slightly. Tracks raises a brow, "…thank you." Footsteps approached. The remaining REDs entered and went this way or that, their hearts set for certain parts of the training room. In a matter of minutes the entire room became a warzone—Tracks had taken the catwalk, her binoculars in hand. Sniper grumbled to himself as she leaned over the railing near her, his rifle aiming. "Bloody bastard takin' me kills," he curses down at the Scout who was batting through the cutouts like mad. Meanwhile Tracks had been fondling with her binoculars, her eyes pressed firmly against the optical lenses. "It's been a fuckin' week and I can't use these things! How the hell…" the sentence escaped through her pressed lips, her body fuming. This was beyond frustrating for her. Pulling it from her face she presses the various keys and buttons before placing it back on. Everything was too close. Finding a button he came to realize she had zoomed out. A cutout of the BLU Sniper pops up. "BLU Sniper 5:00."

Sniper obliges and shoots down the target in an instant. Tracks jump. "Woah, nice shot…"

"Good eye," he chuckles back, reloading his weapon. The young mercenary continued to fondle with her gear. Suddenly it flashes red, and her entire field of vision becomes a heat sensor. "Hot….damn," she awed—surprisingly the cutouts were picking up as warm. Engineer had mentioned earlier how they were freshly painted with new paint, so that could explain the heat signatures. A form shined through the boxes behind the Scout—a BLU cutout that he didn't notice. "3:00,"

"Where?"

"Behind the boxes,"

"I can't see it, Shiela."

The infrared shuts off and begins to recharge once again rather slowly. Tracks lowers her gadget, her eyes locked onto the Scout. "…okay," she stands and hops off, the Sniper watching after. "Where you goin'?!" Hurdling herself over boxes seemed to be more of a strain than usual—then again she spent the last few hours working her ass off. Putting her binoculars back into its respectful holster she spots a shovel swinging by. "HNG!" Tracks skids, her body sliding under the attack. It misses by mere inches before slamming into a cutout.

"WATCH IT, TRACKER!" the Soldier warns her before cutting down more obstacles. With one leap she bounces off the ground and onto a box besides the Scout. He snaps his head towards her watching as she swings her legs to the side, her limps wrecking through the defenseless cutouts. Scout growls, his bat gripped firmly in his palm. "That was mine!" Another pop out; he swings into it, tearing it apart. As more come up the two were forced back to back, their attacks merciless and quick. Just as the sequence was about to end her eyes targeted the hidden cutout. Turning her gaze she takes a hold of the Scout's bat. "Lemme borrow this," she yanks it from him, swinging it into the cutouts head. A buzzard goes off loudly, alerting to the REDs that the training sequences was now over. Tracks's heart pounded—she couldn't believe it. That felt really epic! Turning on her heel she smiles over to the man behind her, his expression priceless.

"Did you see me?! I totally **kicked** through those things like I was a fuckin' martial arts champion haha!" Tracks swung his bat, her cheeks flushed red with excitement. "Pretty strong after all, ain't I cupcake?" she flexes her arms teasingly to him.

It took a while for the Scout to respond. Furrowing his brows he takes a hold of his bat and pulls it out of her hands painfully. Shocked she jerks her arm back, her hand grasping onto the empty air. "Huh?" "This is MY bat. MY weapon! You can't use someone else's weapon, ya dip!" For a moment she was stunned. Her hand found the back of her neck once again and she scratches it. "Oh yeah, I forgot. Sorry," a small laugh escapes her lips, but when two palms shoved her back her couldn't help but let out a grunt. The Scout pushes her threateningly, his muscles itching for a fight. "You think this is a joke? Your ass going around and gettin' in our way? I wouldn't be surprised if your head got smacked clean off!"

"Woah…hold up a second here don't start attacking me when I helped you."

"Hello? Are you even _listening _to me?! You ain't helpin' anyone, doll face. Read my lips if you have to—_you don't belong here_!" Earning a scoff from him she narrows her eyes, her temper beginning to unfold. Tracks had hoped that she could keep her cool near him so that maybe they would make amends, but this wasn't helping her. Around them they hadn't noticed that the older members were beginning to close in on them, their arms ready to pull apart a fight. Rolling her fingers into a fist she shoves him back, his eyes still glaring. Leaning in she points a finger to his face. "No, **YOU **listen you ungrateful brat—I busted my fuckin' helping you. That's what I'm here for! Why do you think I'm dealing with **YOUR** annoying ass?" Scout was on the verge of erupting. Noticing this Tracks closes her eyes, her arms resting on her hips. "Alright, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. How about we keep our opinions to ourselves and call it a draw?" she looks up to him to see his middle finger raised right into her face. "How's this for a draw, doll face?" With fluster cheeks she slaps his hand from her face, her hands griping onto a ball of his shirt while she shoves a finger provokingly into his face. "Don't you fuckin' flip the bird on me you little wimp! Lay off of me and grow up!" The Scout grits his teeth, and soon he leaned back to raise his arms up. "Oh, I'd love to doll but here's the issue. You're a dumbass. There're too much important opinions in my mind to keep in, so I'm better off letting them out. Got it?" He snickered at the sight of her—Tracks's cheeks began to flush, and her eyes shined with intent to hurt him. Nearby the Medic takes a hole of the Tracker's shoulder. "Vat ist the meaning of this? Stop, both of you!"

"Oui, I suggest the both of you **end** this provoking, or else the rest of us will become involved," the Spy pitches in as he begins to adjust his sleeves.

Leaving himself open the Scout gazes towards the French man. "Huh, please. I DARE her!" Tracks huffs—that was all she needed. A fist slams into his jaw, a beating pain surging through his body. Stumbling back Scout clasps his hand over his nose. Fresh blood seeps out, much to his surprise. "Fuck! Listen, I don't hit girls," he grunts, straightening his form and attempting to swipe his hand clean. Snorting in the blood he wasn't prepared for her next punch. The RED team jumps at the sight of Tracks tackling the Scout down. Her fist rained punches upon his face, his hands losing grip onto her thin wrists. "THE HELL?! GET THE FUCK OFF!" he yells. "You don't hit girls, huh?!" she throws another punch on his cheek. Firmly his grabs onto her waist and pushes. Soon her fists no longer could reach, her attacks off by just a centimeter. Tracks hisses, her joints popping with every reach. In desperation the Scout squeezes her sides hard enough for bruises to form. Her attempts falter for a moment, giving the Scout enough time to dig his teeth into her forearm. With one swift move of the jaw his pearly whites puncture her fair skin, the taste of her sweat overwhelming his tongue. Snorting with disgust he bites down harder, her lips curling in pain.

"Gah, you bastard!" Placing a palm on his forehead she pushes back with all of her might, the sweat on his skin making the contact slippery. After what seemed like too short of a time large arms grab onto her shoulders and pull her up. The Scout's teeth lose grip, his canines scraping against the Tracker's sore flesh. Not soon after he lets her waist go, hands hungry to punch her. He spat a curse as she was lifted off of him, but her foot wasn't finished. Tracker gives him a kick, the tip of her hard cleated shoes ramming into his chin and knocking him back. A yell of pain had never felt so soothing to her. The Heavy had kept his grip strong, the girl still squirming to get back into the fight. Sniper locks Scout's arms behind his own back. "Stop et! Stop et ya whacka!" Surprisingly the Scout was proving to be a hassle to keep at bay. His body attempted to pull free; feet scraped along the floor as he grew closer to the girl. "Fuck…you're…DEAD!"

"He fucking **bit **me, I'm gonna kill you! You little shithead!"

"HOLD YER HORSES, LASS!" Demoman had gotten involved, his vest providing him with protection from the Tracker's kicks. Her feet slammed against him, attempting to nail the Boston boy's face again. But Demoman wraps his arms around her strong legs and pins them into his own chest. Twisting, she jerks around the two men's grasp like a worm. "This girl's gonna beat your ass, PRONTO!"

"C'MON, DETROIT YOU AIN'T GOT SHIT ON ME!" A firm hand captures his jaw, startling him. The Spy narrows his eyes into dangerous slits. "…stop it."

"…" The Scout shook his head free, his eyes scanning the ground. What just happened? Heaving for air he continues to jerk some, but the Sniper had managed to ease him. "C'mon mate, calm down. It's a bloody girl you're getting work up over." Soon Tracker had tired herself out, her muscles going limp. Not long after her body was hanging waiting to be released. "Let me go," she sighs, the two men giving her a look. "You won't fight?" the Russian questions, her eyes plastered into the ground. "…nah." Reluctantly the two stare at one another before dropping her. Landing on her two feet she gazes at the bite mark. It adorned the length of her left forearm in plain sight. An exasperated sigh seeps through her flared nostrils before she gazed up. The Scout was still in the Sniper's arms, his face low.

"…" Parting her lips she hadn't found anything to say. Warily she limps forward, struggling to keep a straight posture. The entire time he had tried to ignore her, but her kneeling in front of him made that difficult. Swallowing the lump in her throat she fought to find the right thing to say, but like always she sucked during moments like this. Hunching down she takes a peak at his face—the rim of his cap concealed his dangerous glare. "...hey," she mutters, the exhaustion evident in her voice. Sniper had loosened his grip, giving the Scout the chance to pull his arms free. Tracker is pushed back, her arms barely catching her weight. The bump from her elbows hitting the ground was loud enough to hear. "Get the hell away from me," Scout heaved, blood dripped from his nostrils. Raising a fist he rubs his scraped chin before pushing himself up. Shoving through the crowd he didn't even gaze to the other REDs. The doors before him slid open, and as quickly as the fight ensued he was gone. The entire time Tracks was seated on the floor she had struggled to understand what just happened. The predicament was embarrassing to say the least. An uneasy feeling coursed through her veins as the anxiety kicks in again. _Fuck. What the fuck did I just do? Shit, shit!_

A gloved hand reached down to her, and hesitantly she grabs it. The man pulls her up before wrapping around her shoulders. "Come, mon petit." Warily she follows his lead, the team exiting one at a time. Ahead of them were winding hallways that seemingly led to nowhere. After several turns they had reached a particular spot. Pushing the double doors open the Spy accompanied her into a fairly large room. White, like the rest of the building, adorned each crevice. The freezing cold vents hadn't succeeded in bringing her body ease, but she came to realize that this must have been the coldest area throughout the base. Tracks hadn't even noticed the Medic was following.

"Come," he approaches an exam table. A groan erupted form her bleeding lips. "Aaahhhh, I'm fine. Really." "Nein. You come here," he smiles. Giving a small pout she rolls her eyes and crawls on.

Upon noticing the Spy's stern gaze her breathing hitches. "Ahh…" "You let him provoke you." Once again her shoulders hung, her ego crushed. "I'm sorry."

"You assured to us you wouldn't let the Scout bother you," the Frenchman questions her. "I-I know! But," Tracker jerks up, her arms swinging open. As if he knew the Medic caught her left arm and he began to treat the bite wound. Wincing she lets out and irksome sigh. "I know…I know." The Spy had been right—a week ago when she first had breakfast with them she had reassured there would be no issues. And for an entire week there were none. At some points the members could tell the two were heated. "I asked you yesterday if he had upset you," the Spy crosses his arms. "I could handle it."

"But he had."

"But I could **handle** it!" The man shot her a strong, disciplined look. "_Could._" Tracks turned her head to the side, but no matter where she looked she couldn't escape his gaze. "You know what I meant…" her voice was raspy. For a while there was silence until the Spy drops his arms. Sighing he places a palm softly on her shoulder. "Mon petit," he shook his head at her. Her eyes roll back up to him, guilt evident in stern features. It was a strange relationship the two formed—very slightly father and daughter. He takes his free hand and rubs circles over his eyes. Him and the Sniper had agreed to monitor the two until they shared some form of teamwork. How long until it would work they were unsure, but seeing the circumstances it may take longer than expected. "You cannot keep fighting the Scout."

"He ist right, Fraulein." She gazes to the Medic, his talented hands wrapping her wound comfortably. "You cannot be like this to Herr Scout forever, or else it may happen during ze battlefield." A stinging pain traveled through the length of her arm, reaching her shoulder. She winces slightly. "I get it…awe, damn it," she hunches over, her free palm clasping over her eyes. "I shouldn't have punched him…" The two men exchange looks, unsure of what to say. The fingers over her shoulder tap, catching her attention. Separating her fingers she gazes through the small opening to spot the Spy was on her level. "You know, you aren't the only one who had issues with him. Le Sniper did as well." Her eyes, bloodshot red, simply gazed at him. "…oh really?" she grumbled sarcastically, earning a laugh from the man. He gives her a pat on the shoulder before stuffing his hand into his coats pocket. "I would talk to him if I were you."

"Ja, he may give you good advice. Now hold still, let me see your face." The Medic pats down her lip with a piece of cotton, the alcohol sizzling against the cut. Her body twitches, and her eyes scan the Medics face. "…I'll try and fix it." She looks up at the Spy. "Promise," her face looked dull, but her words had been true. Stinging, she curses to the Medic, the masked man before them pulling out his cigarette and shaking his head teasingly to her. "I know you will, _bonne chance_. Just in case." 


	8. The Running Arbiter

"Okay Tracks…you can do this…" Toes curled nervously inside of her shoes, her feet twiddling and squeaking against each other. Rubbing her hands together she raises a fist up and prepares to knock the door. "…hnnng, wait..wait." Tracks shook her head unsatisfied. Taking two steps back she shifts her weight constantly, her fingers pulling at her lips. Teeth nibble against her nails in desperation as sweat built up. How long was she going to be doing this?

It's been twenty damn minutes.

**_Chapter 7_**

**_The Running Arbiter_**

Since last night she dedicated every minute to conjuring up an apology. Every minute wasn't figurative—she really spent all night. That night she hadn't been blessed with one bit of sleep. If anxiety wasn't keeping her up then it was her own damn self. But she couldn't help it. Actually feeling guilty was a pain in the ass. Shifting her jaw side to side she curls her fingers and raises her fist again. This time she meant to knock.

"….Nnnnoo," she jerks her arm back, her shoulders shivering. Rubbing her arms Tracks lets out a light huff. The Engineer was right about something. Early that morning he had walked out for a bite to eat before breakfast and had noticed her stalking the halls.

_Iniquity is a feeling that could crumble any man. _

Another shiver went up her spine—true words. That was four in the morning—now it was 5:09 exactly. Usually the Soldier would have woken them up by now, but today there was no practice. For once Tracks wished there was, then maybe this could have been easier. Running her tongue along her dry lips she shakes off her anxiousness. Raising a fist she knocks on the door lightly before shooting her arm back against her body, her face cringed with frustration. "Okay just say it Tracks—say _I'm sorry._"

A loud bump catches her from her thoughts, followed by low grumbles and hushed cursing. "Fuck!" Another bang made her actually wince before footsteps heavily dragged themselves to the door. Slowly the knob rattled; her heart beginning to race, her chest bumping with every beat. A gust of wind blew her bangs up as the door swung open dangerously fast. The Scout stood in the doorway, his hands rubbing against his eyes. He was shirtless—a majority of his skin exposed. Thankfully he had been wearing boxers. Wait…he's _only _wearing his boxers.

With big eyes the Tracker had been at a loss of words. To her he had been practically nude, and to be honest she doubts he even noticed who was standing in his doorway. Scout's eyes struggled to focus, but finally he spoke. "…what do you want."

Was that even a question? Opening her mouth Tracks begins to speak. "…ahh…hi," her throat suddenly became dry. Completely she had forgotten how to approach this. Sweat threatened to build up on the back of her neck as the Scout gave her an impatient glance. Rolling his eyes he goes to shut the door. "Whatever."

"Wait!" Tracks slips her fingers in the doorway, her palm catching the door. Yanking it open the two gaze at one another. A low growl escapes his pulled lips, his jaw tensing. "Let…go."

"C'mon Scout, hear me out." He hadn't budged, the tension in the air still building up. Tracks sighs, her gaze softening. For once she allows herself to plead. "Please…" Turning his head away he thought. Did he really want to deal with this? Slamming the door shut would be real easy to do, and he doubted she would mind losing a finger or two. But the look he gave her made his teeth grit. Letting out a long sigh he pulls the door open halfway. "You're doing this **out** there," he blocks the doorway with his hunched body. Tracks nods, her body unable to keep still. After what felt like an eternity she speaks.

"Look, last night was a mistake. I was tired, you were tired. It's pretty obvious neither of us see eye to eye," her arms moved with her words. He hadn't given much of a reaction to this, and she blows her bangs from her face in frustration. "Okay…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hit you—next time I won't. I promise." Holding her hand out she leans back, an unsure expression on her face. "Deal?"

For a while he scans her face for some sign of a hoax. Clicking his tongue the Scout beats his fingers against the door. "Yeah, nice try doll but it's a no."

"W-Wha? Wait!" she digs her hands into the doorway, and the two struggle with the wooden slab. Scout loses his patience, his hands pulling hard. "Dammit, let go!"

"This…isn't…fair!" That made him stop. Letting go of the door she opens it fully now, her body nearly losing balance. She stirs for a moment, eyes wide before her body slouches. Shaking her head she swings her arms open. "You can't just fucking shut the door on me. I said sorry, what more do you want? I swear, I'll do anything. Just…" Trailing off she places her hands on her hips, her teeth nibbling against her lip as she tried her best to think. Yet her mind raced frantically, and nothing good would surface. Flicking her ponytail to the side she crosses her arms now, hip popped out in frustration.

_Damn…I suck at this. _

The bandages that wrapped the length of her arm finally came to view. Scout tilts his head at the injury.

"What's with your arm?" his words were rather suspicious. Opening her eyes she notices the curious look on his face, and she shakes her head. "You **bit** me, remember?" she plays a mocking tone, an agitated huff escaping her lips. The Scout was tempted to object, but then he remembered. He did bite her during the heat of their fight. Raising his arm the Scout scratches the visible cut on his chin—the Medic would have healed it, but Ms. Pauling said they didn't deserve such treatment after performing such ludicrous actions. Much to his surprise he was at a loss for words. Swallowing a mouthful of saliva he rolls his blue irises back to her. Yet the only thing he could think of was a sly remark. The situation called for something more sincere, and that to him was unknown territory. Raising his shoulder he rubs it against his ear to scratch it.

"Okay here's the deal. We obviously don't give two shits about each other so why don't we leave this where it is now. It's early, I could use a couple more hours. You could use a whole life time. So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed. I suggest you take your ass back to yours too," the Scout spoke dryly. With that he shuts his door, the lock chiming not long after. Tracks gawks, her eyes blinking several times before processing what had just happened. Furrowing her brows she makes a fist.

"Fine then…I'm fine with that…yeah! Great…nice chattin' with you…" her voice grunts caustically. Bringing her arm up she swipes it down; why even bother anymore was all she could think. Scout listens as the woman enters her room, her door slamming shut. The Scout lets out a breath he wasn't aware of holding. His fingers reached for his chin, scratching once again before taking a hold of his dog tags. Sliding them side to side the friction creates a scraping noise. Walking forward his feet mow and push passed various clutters that carpeted the ground. Magazines and empty Bonk cans scattered the ground, while dirty clothes pended to be taken to the laundry room. A small box had fallen to the floor, various cards and comics flowing from it. While he got up to see who had been knocking on his door his elbow had accidentally knocked it down. Reaching the bed he kicks the various comics away from its vicinity. The mattress moans under his weight, his body leaning forward as he sat along the side. The previous moment had made him too flustered to rest now. Running his fingers through his short locks a glare catches his eye. A picture frame faced slightly in the other direction. Casually he reaches over and adjusts it—a black and white photo of a lovely woman stared back to him. Though he had expected it to bring him comfort he had only felt more angst. His shoulders fell limp, his teeth chewing against the inside of his cheek. Only a freak would bite someone. Why he did it only god could explain. Kicking his feet forward the Scout slips up his socks. He could no longer just sit around and let something stupid bother him. It was just a fight. Nothing else but a fight, really! Maybe it was because he hit a girl. This was the only reasonable explanation as to why it bugged him so much.

The rest of the day seemed to have dragged for the two. Once the big hype came—the battle—they had hoped for a good distraction. For some time it worked. The Scout tore through various enemies, and he hadn't died once. Tracker and Sniper were as they were for the past week. He sat upon his post while she would give off enemy locations. The Australian aims down his scope, his bullet flying through the BLU Pyro's skull. "Boom. Headshot."

Tracks scoffs, a light smirk on her face. The man continues. "You see tense. Somethin' botherin' you?"

She keeps her form. "...about this whole, dying thing." It was true—not once has Tracks really died. The Sniper had, right beside her too. And to be frank it scared her shitless. The Sniper glances at her before turning his attention to the scope again. "What of it."

"Does it…hurt?"

A low sigh erupts deep in his throat. "It does. But you get used to it, Shiela. Besides, depends on 'ow you go out. You'll get used to it, that I know." Nodding she turns her attention back into her binoculars. Down in the battlefield the Scout ran through the firepower like mad, his aim deadly as he shoots down several targets. Near him the BLU Soldier aims his rocket launcher towards a nearby window and fires, the explosion so large that the ground rumbles. Glass flies, and the Scout had too little time to escape the blast radius. The force pushes him off his feet, and he skids across the ground painfully. Pieces of glass embed within his skin, tugging and pulling with every movement he makes. Hissing he quickly crawls behind cover, gunfire following soon after. Tracks grits her teeth.

Rising she prepares to help but a strong grip yanks her down. The Sniper had leaned towards her, his arm outstretched and tugged against her holster. Giving her a look he pulls her back down. "You're not ready for down there, you're not," he gives her the same look that the Spy occasionally did. Oh how she hated it, but for some reason she was grateful that it existed. A frustrated sigh blows from her flared nostrils.

"But Snipes,"

"I said no, now sit your bloody ass down and help me save the bloke's ass!" he orders. Cursing she allows herself to flop back down, her eyes glued to the binoculars. As they practiced she gave him locations, and in split-seconds after he shot them down. The Heavy had done a good job holding up a temporary defense, but his ammo ran dry, and the Engineer's dispenser was destroyed and relocated.

_Don't die…don't die!_

The sound of yelling made the young man jump. The BLU Soldier ran straight for the Scout, the young man screaming back as a response. Bobbing his head to the side he plants a foot onto the man's chest, his shovel barely even missing. Reloading his scattershot he presses it under the BLU's chin, the enemy's body going limp.

"…oh…"

Scout pulls the trigger, his head bursting into a red fountain of bones and bits. The siren blares off, and the Administrator's voice chimes in. A sigh of relief escapes his lips, a small grin playing his features. They won thanks to him—for some reason he wasn't as excited as he should be. Rolling his gaze up he spots Tracker in the distance, her face eased. The Sniper gave her a firm pat on the back, and she too gave the Australian man a subtle grin. Her teeth showed, her shoulders bouncing. The Scout narrowed his eyes; she was laughing in celebration with the man, but she seemed rather stiff. "…"

"Le Scout." His eyes diverted to the Spy, his hand reaching down to assist him. The Frenchman gave him a nod, his suit slightly coated in dust. "Good job."

Reluctantly he takes his hand, the older of the two pulling him up to his feet. "Shit," the Scout hisses, his fingers plucking out glass and flicking it to the side. Cringing he sticks his tongue out in disgust. "Oh, yeah? I've been practicing, ya know. Improving what I can, not that there are any flaws an' such! Ow…shit," a particular piece was lodged in good. Frustratingly he attempts to get a hold of it, but his fingers proved to be too big. The Spy pats his back before motioning ahead. "Perhaps you should ask someone with smaller hands," he points to Tracker.

The Scout gives a disapproving grunt. "Are you kiddin'? She'll probably shove it in deeper." The Spy simply shrugged before waltzing away. "Allez, vient," his language tickled at the young man's ears. Scout rolls his eyes, his steps heavy.

"Um just in case you forgot, I can't speak freakin' French!"


	9. The Running Seconder

"Alright—hold still junge."

"Yeowch!"

With careful hands the Medic removes a nasty piece of glass from the Scout's arm. Raising it before the light he observes it, turning it this way and that. Humming he turns for a moment to drop the shard into a small metallic dish. It clatters, landing upon a small mound of glass smeared in red. His lips curl up, a sly grin appearing. "Vell, that vas a quite the little tick," his voice was uplifting as usual. Pulling his lips to the side the Scout grunts, waiting impatiently for the man to finish. Now wielding gauze he begins to wrap the injury.

**_Chapter 8_**

**_The Running Seconder_**

Wrapping up the last bit the Medic clasps it shut with two metal pieces. It looked much like the sport wraps that adorned the Scout's wrist, so surprisingly it seemed fitting. Stretching his arm about the Scout tests its comfort. Likewise the Medic had twisted his arm about—as always he wrapped it perfectly. "It is funny, Herr Scout. Now you match ze Tracker."

A sigh seethed through pressed lips as he leaned against the edge of the metal table. The distasteful look he had made the Medic raise his brow with curiosity. "Ist there a problem?"

"Problem? What problem, does it look like I have a problem?" he spat defensively. The Medic had given him a rather shocked look, his eyes bit and mouth sealed shut. A loud bang of the doors slamming open rung through the room, catching the Medic's attention. He turns his gaze to peak over his shoulder. Startled, the Scout yelps as his body jerks. The table was weak—all of those times the Heavy rested upon it had taken the toll. Its legs bend, the table collapsing upon itself. Scout falls after it, his backside slamming down before his face smacks against the cold hard ground. The Medic snaps his head back down to the young man, his fingers rubbing his now aching temples.

"Ahh…ach du lieber," he sighs frustrated. That was the seventh table since January. Adjusting his glasses his sighs to himself. "I vill need stronger tables…"

"They why don' ye buy some instead o' wastin' time with those piece o' craps!" The Demoman marches in, a heavy laugh heaving from his large chest. Scout grunts as he pushes himself up, his hands rubbing his now sore bum. He gives the Demoman a look of irritation. "What the hell are you goin' on about?"

"THIS!" He slams an envelope down, money flowing out of it.

Back in the meeting room Tracks stood near the table, her hands spreading the money apart like a deck of cards. "Oh my…look at this!" her eyes glimmered at the sight. The many faces gave her the cold stares back, their scent both foreign but addictive to her. This was_ real _money. A laugh of pure delight filled the room, her cheeks tickled pink. The men around her were roused by their paycheck, but not quite as excited as her. They chuckle at her priceless reaction, her thin form visibly holding in her urge to bounce.

"I can't believe this **$800**! And all we had to do was fight!"

Chuckling the Spy walks over to her, his hand patting her shoulder firmly. "Non, mon petit. This is how much we make when we win a majority of the time. Now that we have you we just may keep a permanent raise." Tracks was about to speak, but the Scout gave out a snort loud enough for everyone to hear. Raising a finger he tilts up his cap, his free arm crossed over his slim chest.

"Shesh. Try not to spend it all, doll face." The girl narrows her eyes, him returning the favor with a cocky grin. Beside her the Soldier takes his envelope, throwing his pay to him. "Keep your thoughts to yourself Private! We are **not** having another fight to break up!" The Scout snatches it from the air with ease before crumbling it within his grasp. Rolling his eyes he flicks his gaze to the side. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. But if she ends up wastin' it all on make-up then just remember I told ya so!" Now turning his attention to Tracks he tilts his head up.

"Ain't that right, Tracker?"

"You betcha…" she grunts, her face easing. Shoving the dollars back into their previous stack she shoves them into the envelope, sealing it with her tongue. The sharp edge nearly sliced her tongue and she retracts it back into her mouth. Scout watches as she presses it shut. "Saving the money is a smart move," the Engineer tucks his in his overall's pocket, his gloved hand gesturing towards Tracks. Narrowing his eyes the Scout continues to gaze at her—her entire persona had calmed, but for some reason it was suspicious. Night drew nearer as the REDs commenced to eating their meals. Heavy seemed to sit beside Tracks most of the time. Though he hadn't admitted it he had grown fond of the female mercenary, and the two would talk about various topics. The tall brute placed his hand upon the back of her chair occasionally and kept it there for the remainder of their meals. At their table sat the Spy and the Soldier, the Sniper and Demoman standing near them with their glasses. On the next table over the Scout slices his food apart, mixing it together. Messily he jams the steak pieces and peas with his mashed potatoes, the gravy splattered about. Scooping a load into his spoon he glances towards the Pyro. The man sat near him, his hot cup of water on the table. Steam rose up from the small mug. Intently he stares at the small fog, his head tilting with curiosity. Scout ceases from chewing as he stared at the man dead panned. Pyro hadn't paid any mind to his presence.

Raising a brow the Scout simply shakes his head, going back to his food. "Got any room 'ere?" The two turn their attention to the Sniper. Tilting his hat he pulls a chair out and sits himself down. The Sniper clears his throat, his hand grasping firmly against a bottle of Red Shed. Raising the bottle he downs some beer. Dragging his tongue along his palate he sighs unsatisfied. "Not my favorite. I prefer Old Geezer."

The Scout sneers—Sniper always had a strange taste in beer. Though the youngster never tried it, the name _Old Geezer_ never seemed very appetizing to him. Raising his spoon he plops another mound into his mouth, the Sniper throwing him a disgusted look. "How can you eat like that, mate?"

"Hmm?" he grunts, a mouthful of food. Sniper couldn't help but raise his brow at the scene. It was strikingly familiar looking. After so long he looks over to Tracker—she mixed her food up as well, slinging the mess into her mouth in a similar manner. The Sniper gives out a fascinated sigh. "I don't understand how you two ankle bitters can eat this slop," he jokes before downing more of the liquid. The youngster furrows his brows as he swallows without chewing. The steak pieces scratch their way down, and he was forced to beat his fist against his chest for a moment to clear the journey down.

"What the hell is it with everyone comparin' me to that broad, anyway?!"

Sniper shrugs. "You know wot he's talkin' about, mate?" he looks to the Pyro whom shook his head buck.

"Mmm mrph."

The Australian shakes his head before looking back to the youngest. Leaning forward he flicks his glasses down, this time truly looking at him. Scout freezes—this man could burn holes through him just by looking. Like the rest of his body his face was sun kissed. Though the glasses seemingly never left his face there were no tan lines tainting his warmed features. The look in this man's eyes was scavenging for something. It was beyond obvious to the Scout, so he remained away from eye contact.

"Why you bein' so defensive, eh?"

Scout snorts, his nose tickling him suddenly. "I ain't bein' shit, Snipes. Jus' tryin' to eat my food if you hadn't noticed."

Sniper gave him a grin, his head shaking at his stubbornness. "You're usually big-notin' yerself. You haven' done that in a while. Now you're runnin' off, skippin' brekkie…c'mon you can tell me. What's botherin' you?"

"I said nothing! **No-thing**! You got that, wise guy?! Now buzz off! Geez…" The Scout had slammed his palms against the table, his spoon flying passed the Pyro who just stared after it. His short attention span made the Scout sick, but a stinging sensation climbed up the length of his arm. Grasping it he grits his teeth, his patience wearing thin. A strange tension filled the air as the Sniper's eyes widened. "Bloody hell," he muttered astonished. Scout huffs. "What?"

"…you got a thing fo' the lil' Shiela." Sniper watches as his body freezes—he became prey to his words, his body so stiff that he had become stone. Scout darts his eyes up at him stunned. A very faint tint of red taints his face. "What the hell did you just say?!"

"Well I'll be damned! Did you crack a fat yet lookin' at her?" the man crossed the line of playing around. At first Scout didn't understand, but the way his brows danced and the sheer look of that disgraceful grin on his teeth made his face burn all the more intensely. Scout stood, his legs banging against the table. "You're fuckin' sick, you know that right?!" he snaps at him. Throwing his head back the Sniper roars out a sharp string of laughter, the men around him still going on about their business. After what felt like an eternity he pants, struggling to calm himself down. "Ahah, s-sit your bloody ass down, ya bloke! I'm just messin' with ya. C'mon. Sit down," he sighs and sips his beer. Disturbed, the Scout shoves his plate and goes to leave. "Ima kill you, you got that?" he spits. Having no effect on the Sniper's mood only seemed to make him the more infuriated. His head began to beat with an unbearable pain, his arms itching to punch at the punching bag again. The most reasonable place to hide out now was in his room—that way the Sniper wouldn't bug him again.

_Awe, shit. Is __**that **__why Spy's all up on my ass?! _

Scout comes to a stop, his fingers gripping against his hat and headset. Squeezing the fabric he begins to shake his head. If Sniper starts going on and saying crap like that then there's no doubt the Spy will—those looks he keeps throwing to him were more than just random glances, he just knows it! Taking a deep breath he attempts to calm himself down, though all attempts were threatening to fail.

"Nuh uh…you didn't."

A voice had made his entire attempts stop. Slowly he turns his head to the side. Ahead was an intersection between two halls. Approaching it he peaks over the edge silently, his shoes squeaking lightly. Wincing, he curses the fact that his sneakers were so damn loud.

_"No really, I did!" _

"Shut up!"

Two voices now—one was Tracks while the other sounded like it was screaming through the phone. That was right. Down that hall were the payphones. Pressing his back against the wall he gradually closed in on the conversation, his ears all open.

_"No really Tracks! I swung the bat and it went flllyyyyyying! I really hit a homerun!" _

Tracks chuckles. "A homerun? Isn't that when you **miss **the ball?"

_"Hey! That's called a strike, there's a difference!"_

"I know, I know! You can't blame me I hate baseball geez," her voice was teasing and rather cutesy. The young child responded back with a whine, his groaning skipping as if he were jumping while doing so.

_"But it's soooo cool! You'd be so great at it you're that fastest runner in the world!" _

"Ahah…yeah, about that Twerps. I think I've found myself some hefty **competition**." She gazes at her nails when a gasp tickles her ear. Giggling, she flicks some dirt from under her cuticles. The boy continues, almost frantic. _"You mean you're working with someone as fast as you?_"

"**Faster**," she corrects him, her eyebrows bouncing. The child started coughing, and Tracks began to laugh. "Calm down, kid, it ain't the end of the world ya know."

_"FASTER?! Geez they're like a cheetah! I bet they're great at baseball!" _

"Ugh. What's with you and baseball?"

_"It's only the COOLEST thing in the world! How can you hate it Tracks you __**liiiived **__next to a field! I'm here stuck playing T-Ball while your friend and you have fun…" _

A small sigh escapes her lips, and her mind drifted off for a moment. "He's a coworker, NOT a friend. And yeah…he likes baseball."

_"Woah. It's a GUY!?"_

"All of my coworkers are guys, Twerps."

_"Is he older than you? Can I talk to him!?" _Tracks pouts. "Wait a minute there stop with all the questions! No, he's not older at least not mentally. And NO you can't talk to anyone but me. What does that matter, kiddo?"

_"Oooh nothing. Do you like him…?" _

"Ugh. You're such a kid. Like the little brother I never wanted. Besides, what happened to the whole I'm gonna date you when I'm older stuff, ehh?"

_"Well, about that. There's this cute girl in my class. Miss. Hemingway told me her favorite color is red, so I got my eyes on buying her this neat looking thingy ma doogie." _

"Thingy ma doogie? Daw, how cute! Didn't know you had it in you kid," Tracks pops her hip out, and the boys grumpy attitude only made her the more happy. "You know buying takes money, right?"

_"I know…I don't got any yet. And mom told me not to steal anymore. If you didn't tell on me then I wouldn't be having a hard time!" _

"Come on, Twerp…look, stealing is bad. Besides, who knows? You might be getting some big bucks in soon," her voice sounded hinting. The Scout, entranced by the entire conversation, narrowed his eyes at this part. Something about it seemed fishy. Temptation to approach them arose, but he managed to keep himself pressed against the wall.

"Promise me you won't steal," Tracks spoke sternly now.

_"Only if you promise to play baseball ONCE when you're not working!" _

"I'm always working somehow whether it's training or the actual job, you moron."

_"SERIOUSLY?! Uuuuuggggh your job suuuucks. I still don't get why you can't tell me…hmph. I guess this means I can't keep that promise then…"_

Pressing her palm against her face she lets out a defeated growl. "Ugh! Fine, I promise I'll try…_baseball_ when I get the dang chance alright?"

_"And it has to be with the fast guy! You can't play baseball alone."_

"What? Do I have to play with someone that hates my living guts?"

_"Yes! Oh, mom's home. I gotta go, she didn't hear about my homerun yet! Are you gonna call me tomorrow?" _

"When will I ever ferget?" Again she gives a lighthearted laugh, something that sounded rather weird coming out of her to the Scout. The two exchange goodbyes, and much to his surprise she says the words, "I love you." The Scout's breathing hitched somewhat—who was that kid? Just before he could managed to sneak away Tracks's body bumps into his. Her fingers had been entwined within her wavy locks, her eyes widened with shock at his presence. But soon her entirety had become irate. "Where you eavesdropping?" her words were rather interrogating. The Scout remained still for a moment, his mind trying to find a good excuse. Returning to his cocky ways he crosses his arms coyly, his eyes unfazed and words snobbish. "Who was that? Another rat from the crap hole you came from?"

Biting her lip she quickly grabs his shoulders and shoves him back into the wall. Tracks left up no boundaries. Little space floated between them when she presses her chest into his, her finger jerking into his face. The air flew out of Scout's lungs, his breathing hitching. "What did you hear?!"

"Yo, what the hell's your problem?! You had a talk on the phone with someone and I happened to be passing by what do you want from me?!" He watched, her eyes scanning his face for some kind of sign. With her arms quivering she pushes herself off of him. Dusting himself off he curses under his breath, his body slowly turning to the side away from her.

Tracks breathes slowly, her throat tightening up. "..."

The Scout rubs the tingling feeling from his chest. Her sudden act of distress brought him irritation. "Ya know bein' a mercenary ain't about throwing your emotions left and right! Why don't you buy yourself some wacko pills with that money of yours?" Tracks narrowed her eyes to him before charging him.

"You think you're so perfect don't you? Well you wanna know what I think—I think you're bluffin'." Scout snarls at her.

"**What**?"

"You heard me—you're a bluff. A faker! You act all tough but in the end I bet you're nothin' more than a delinquent! A kid who got **bored **like me, and went into this whole mess to become all _big _and _bad_ like the grownups because he had **nothing**!"

The rage rushed through her veins like wildfire, but slowly her heart began to sink. The Scout looks at her questioningly. He opens his mouth to speak. "Like you?" The lump in Tracker's throat became overwhelming. She couldn't breathe, and she couldn't retaliate with something smart and cunning. Biting her tongue she backs away step by sluggish step, her arms hanging limp with what seemed to be pity. Clearing her throat she turns and begins to walk away. "Just…forget everything that I said."

The Scout could only stare after the distance form until finally she turned the corner. Still pressed against the wall he felt the confusion lingering in the air. A sense of anger, like always, followed after. Sighing his head slumped, hanging down as he pushes himself off the wall. That was going to bother him now. What started out as genuine interest became pure regret. Whoever she was talking to had pulled out information from her that he couldn't even bring himself to understand. Pulling his hat off he found himself standing in between their doorways. Mildly he tilts his head to take a glimpse of her doorway. Within it was as silent as before she had arrived, but he knew she was in there. The light was on. Nipping his lip he turns to enter his room, the door slamming as usual. But this time he found himself hesitant to turn the lock.

"…dumb bitch," he grunts, making sure to click it extra loud. Undressing into his boxers he slams his back onto the bed and remained the remainder of the night restless, much like she had been doing in her bed. Throughout their unfortunate partnership they were forced with deal with one another. Fights still ensued, and if it wasn't for their need to act as a team they would have most likely been fighting at every waking moment. With subtle conversation the two had managed to stay a safe distance apart. Days became weeks and weeks became dreadfully long months. It wasn't until the fall when they were given the change to try again.

_KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. _

"Hey…Scout. **Wake up**."


	10. The Running Break

_KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. _

"Scout…yo, Scout! Get your butt up!"

**_Chapter 9_**

**_The Running Break_**

_Four months later…_

Wiggling her jaw impatiently the Tracker waited to be acknowledged. A change has been made to her uniform—a cranberry red track jacket was a new addition given to her. The gift was from the Administrator, the design by Ms. Pauling. An orange/yellow bar stretched across her chest, reaching to either sleeve. On her back sat her class emblem proudly, a smaller one embroidered over the right chest. Her zipper was half open, revealing her matching tank top under. Impatiently she fondles with her pockets as her foot taps loudly. Knocking on the door politely never proved to be enough. So whenever she needed him for any reason, Tracks would beat upon his door until her fists ached. Usually by now he would have been yelling at her—calling her names and spitting out a colorful string of language. But this time it was dead silent in the Scout's room. Fluttering her eyes she blows air into her cheeks, the flustered skin puffing out with frustration. How long must she wait there?

During the few times she ever knocked on his door rarely was it for her own self. Everybody needed each other, and a majority of the time she was the right person to fetch them. This time the Soldier wanted to have a chat with the Scout—man to man. What could she say? That's what happens when you skip the Soldier's training. Though, during that morning when she noticed the Scout was a no-show it truly shocked her. The boy was always the first to dive into the band wagon, so long as guns were permitted. And they always were permitted. Demo and Engineer claimed that he was having a hard time sleeping through the night. The excuse was childish to her—Tracker always had her own issues but she still went through the day strong, even if she had only three hours of rest. Or in her current case, experiencing some discomfort. Mumbling something under her breath she rubs her chest. Her skin tingled, a pressure pushing against the walls of her rib cage. Letting out a grunt of discomfort she attempts to ignore the scraping feeling. Her heart burned, each beat accompanied by a quick and sudden sting. Raising her top she exposed her stomach to observe the faded lines that printed upon her pale flesh. Incision lines; earlier that morning she had went through the most traumatizing experience of her life. To be frank, Tracker had never been to the doctor's office. Hell, the last time she was handled by a doctor was the day of her birth. So when she woke up at 4:00 in the morning the last thing she wanted to do was actually arrive to her appointment with the Medic. Skipping out would have been a problem, however. The Spy made it very clear to her that if she tried to escape from her fate he would simply drag her there—conscious or not. It was after that when the Frenchman also stated how he would get the Sniper and Soldier involved. Anything would be done to get her to the clinic. Once the procedure began she could only pray that nothing horrible would happen. If the Spy hadn't been there to calm her she surely would have screamed and punched her way out.

_"I am here, ma bichette. Just stay calm. The Medic has done this procedure with all of us." _

_"A-Are you sure you know what you're doing?"_

_"Of course! I am a doctor after all. You have no need to vorry your safety is my priority. Veeether it vill hurt or not however should be your main concern."_

_"All of this so I can…ÜberCharge. Or whatever you call it—hey, wait! On second thought I-I'm not ready to be cut open yet! Ahhhhhh! That stings. Wait…what's that! It's scratching my insides!" _

_"Vat the? Archimedes, no! It smells in zere!" _

_ "WHAT?! What was that?! Was that a pigeon?!" _

_"No, no, no Fraulein. Zat ist a dove—very different. Don't vorry he ist very clean. He just wanted to make sure your intestine vere intact aheheh. Ja, now then. Spy, hold her down please." _

Tracks gulps—the metal piece zapped occasionally as it fused with her heart. The thick needles which penetrated one of her most important organs scratched against the raw tissues with every beat. Even breathing somewhat hurt. But the Medic noticed her discomfort, and he had reassured to her that within two days it will feel as if nothing is there. Swallowing a lump in her throat she shudders. Once again she knocks the door and waits for a reply. Nothing came up. "Scout? Hey, Scout!" No answer. Infuriated she lets out a long sigh. If she returns to the Soldier empty handed he'll make her do another two hundred pushups. Her damn arms were on fire now she can't do another set! "Ugh, this is pointless…alrighty then," her fingers snap as she dashes off.

Deep in the RED base the Engineer had been fine tuning one of his most latest designs. With a zipping noise the sentry shifts its barrel to the right, the Engineer's wrench struggling to turn a bolt along the base. With each dry turn it jerks to the side, the machine whirling on the verge of breaking down. A low growl escapes from his sneering lips as she struggles. "C'mon baby…turn!"

"Hey Engie."

The Engineer drops his trusty wrench, his head slamming against the top of his sentry. It whizzes, the machine spinning in place before shutting down. A raspy hiss snakes from the Texan's lungs while he rubs against his bald head. A sore spot was itching to form now. Opening his eyes he spots the Tracker. A rather calm looking snicker played her face as she crouched down on his table, her weight balanced on top of his toolbox. The Engineer shakes his head.

"The hell are you doin' scarin' me like that?" he straightens his form. Dusting his arms off she gives him an innocent look. "Awe c'mon Engie I wasn't doing it on purpose. Listen, I need a favor." Engineer raises a brow, his goggles pressed firmly against his face. Reaching over he takes a hold of some Red Shed and raises it to his mouth.

"Oh, alright darlin'. What can good ol' Engie do for you?" he begins to drink the beer. Tracks places a finger on her chin, rubbing it in small circles.

"I need you to break into Scout's room for me." Beer flies through the air, and Engineer slams a fist against his chest. Coughing, he struggles it catch his breath. "Hooold up there girl, you want me to do what? I ain't helpin' you get back at him if that's what you want."

"…" Running her fingers along her face she wipes the droplets of saliva and beer, flicking it to the side. She grunts, annoyance evident throughout her features. Tracker gives him an unhappy look. "Look, it's nothing like that," she attempts to reassure him. The man gave her a stone like gaze. "C'mon Engie—the Soldier's forcin' me to do this. I promised him I'd get the Scout up and out to the training grounds by noon and it's almost 11:50. He won't answer his door." Engineer had been rubbing his bald head, listening intently.

"He ain't?"

"No, and I'm not in the mood to take his punishment," she had been observing one of his tools with a dreary expression. Taking his screwdriver from her grasp the Engineer rolls to down the table in thought.

"He hasn't been very fluent lately. I reckon he won't be up until the fight later." Tracks leans in, "So you're helpin' me right?"

"What? Nah, darlin'. I ain't breakin' the kids lock. I'll never hear the end of it," he earns an exasperated groan.

"Awe c'mon Engineer! I don't know what to do and I can't pick locks." Bending over to fetch the wrench the Engineer bangs it against his sentry. The machine zaps before reawakening meekly. "Try gettin' him up without making a ruckus. You're a city slicker—there's ways of gettin' into a room quietly, ain't there?" the man gives her a warm smile before returning his attention to his little device. Tracker's face went long, her mind trying to decipher just what he meant.

"…aahhh, I got this."

Giving the Engineer a thank you she pops his hardhat back on his head before bouncing off the table. Her body scurried through the halls, flying out through the twin sliding doors just before they shut. The Heavy stares after her, eyes blinking with confusion. Once outside Tracks ran quite a ways down until she was under a particular window. Her breaths were uneven as she looks up at the distance. The desired destination was quite a ways up. Tracks chuckled—nothing she couldn't handle. Little did the Engineer know, he had reminded her of her theft days back in Detroit. She would scale building sides and sneak into apartments windows. If Scout was as much of a sucker as she thought he was, he would have left his window unlatched. Reaching up grabs onto the closest ledge. With calloused hands she could now grip onto surfaces—hot or cold. Ms. Pauling never supplied her with gloves, and if she wrapped her hands the Scout would accuse her of being a copycat. Attempting to jump from one ledge to another plants her feet against the wall and bounces up. With ease she grabs onto his window's edge. This was good—it seems her exertion during practice has paid off. Sweat rolled from the side of her jaw as her finger flicks against the edge of his window. Just as she figured it was unlocked. A small pop was made as she slid it open, the cold air rushing into her face. The very slight sent of musk and cherry flushed into her nostrils. Tracks's nose flared open, the scent strange. Crawling in she accidently flips, her butt landing within a box. She struggles as she sank into it, the cardboard's grip tight like molasses. "Agh…dammit," she whispers, a blush of embarrassment tainting her cheeks. Something soft pressed against her butt. Probably clothes of some sort. Finally being able to stand she stumbles to the side, a can bending and attaching to her foot. Snarling she kicks it to the side. "Ugh, little vermin!"

The room was dark, but she could tell it was filthy just by the smell of it. While flaring her nostrils she caught that stench again. Soda pop—the air was fizzy with a cherry aroma. Bending down she decides to grasp an empty can. She shakes it, some old and forgotten fluid bounced within. The leftover lost its fizz.

_Bonk! Atomic Punch, cherry fission. Now with Isotopes! _

Tracks cringes her nose at the sound of it. Though she didn't want to admit it in person she actually wanted to try it. Why else would the Scout be so obsessed with it? "Hng…a little radiation sickness can't hurt," she grumbles, turning it over to watch the sizzling substance pour out. It smokes on the carpet, causing her shoulders to shudder. Dropping the can she wipes her palm along her brown bottoms, her tongue sticking out with disgust. A snore made her freeze. There, before her, the Scout's body laid beneath his sheets asleep. Slowly the clumps of fabric rose up as he breathed soundly. Huffing, her bangs flutter up to expose her stern gaze. The bastard really was asleep!

Carefully she hops over the mounds of cards, magazines, and clothes. A particular piece of clutter snatched her foot, her body falling forward. A loud yelp was suppressed by the soft mattress, her face slamming into it. With sore gums she pushes herself up, her eyes still glued onto him. "…" Taking in a deep breath she closes one eye and grabs a handful of fabric. Yanking, she pulls off his brown sheets to reveal his resting form. The Scout was lying face up, his mouth hanging open as quiet snores continue to flow out. Reaching over her fingers shivered—she wasn't sure on how to approach this. It took her a moment to notice he was once again in his boxers. Pressing her lips together she diverts her gaze, an uncomfortable blush tainting her cheeks. Squeezing her eyes shut she conceals his lower half with the blanket again. Holding her breath she closes the space between them.

"…oh, come on," she mentally bites herself. Firmly gives him a tap on the cheek. Once his body reacts she ducks down, her back pressed against the mattress. As the mattress shifted she could feel him move on the bed. His body stretched, a low groan erupting from his chest until he finally went limp. "…" Furrowing her brows she looms over him, eyes wide with disbelief. With a sigh she wraps her hands around his ankle and tugs. His body slides down by an inch. "Get up."

No reaction. This time she shakes his leg, "Wake…UP!" A tired groan vibrated in his throat, but he had yet to open his eyes. Tracker huffs, shoving his leg to the side. Usually she would have straddled his legs and bounced, but seeing as to how he was _under dressed _that wouldn't be the wisest or smartest decision. Leaning in she raises her arm, giving the Scout a hard slap across the face without hesitation. The Scout's eyes shot open. The silhouette of a figure loomed above him in the darkness.

"...AAAAHHHHHH!"

"Ahh?! Wha!?" Tracks yelps, her arms waving side to side. "No, no, no it's me!" His form jerks up into a seated position, his chest slamming into hers. Gasping, the female mercenary rolls back and lands hard on the ground. Her foot bangs against the nightstand near them. The small object that adorned it began to shake. As she lands it tips over, falling and hitting her on the face.

Rubbing his eyes the Scout stares into the darkness. Tracker sits up, her hair a mess. The picture frame stuck onto her forehead and hadn't budge once. His face flushed, anger flooding deep within the pit of his stomach. "What the hell are you doing in here?!" he yells at her grounded state.

"Trying to wake up your lazy ass…" her blush was still burning in her cheeks. At first the Scout simply bellowed down at her, but his boxers were in broad daylight. Realization kicks in and the Scout stammers, his hands grabbing the pillow and jamming it before his groin.

"Get the hell out!" Scout watches as she snakes her hand up to grab the object. With a hazy vision she had difficulty seeing what it was, but the small bit of light in the room helped her identify it. Blinking she looks at it with sudden interest. "…who is this?"

Tilting the photo she had come to realize it was a rather pretty woman. A struggle could be heard, the Scout's leg becoming entwined in his covers. Kicking furiously he attempts to free himself. "What?!" he shot his head over the edge of the bed. Wide eyed he reaches over, attempting to grab it. Tracker shifts it out of reach, eyes wide with confusion. "H-HAND IT OVER!"

"I just wanna know, geez," she scoffs, eyes glued to the rather dainty photo. After a long struggle he huffs, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed. The frame moans under his shifting weight, and he snatches the photo from her. "It's my mom, you happy? Now get out!" The young lady watches as he pushes himself up, his leg still wrapped in his covers. Loudly he slams it back down, the photo standing upright in all of its glory again. Tracker stands, crouching down to look at it once more. Upon gazing hard enough she could truly see the resemblance. Her face was angular, her eyes a very crystal clear blue much likes his. The way she smiled was soft and welcoming, much like any mother would smile, and even in this politest of states the rough Scout still resembled her. "She's lovely," Tracks teased, her hip popping out as she glances at his sulking form. The Scout cringes at her compliment—if it even was one—and tenses his shoulders before kicking at the objects on the floor.

"Whatever just get out! How did you get in here anyway?!" Shyly she points to the window, and his head snaps to look. "The hell? You freak!" But when he looks back she had picked up the photo again.

"You look like her," she smirks. "Gimmie that!"

Tracks could only watch as his body towers down. If it were slow motion the moment would be beyond hysterical. A loud yell muffled when his face smacks into the ground, a storm of cards flying into the air before showering back down onto him. Closing her eyes she shakes her head at mess. The Scout's backside had been up in the air, his jaw holding his weight up. "Ugh...fuck..!" his fingers wrap around his chin in the hopes of rubbing of pain away. With a roll of her eyes she crosses her free arm around her chest.

"Oh just put on some pants will you? Anyway, I'm here cuz you missed practice," she bluntly informs him, her finger pointing towards his hunched form. His eyes shot open, pupils mere dots. "Oh…shit…" his words were muffled, his palm still firmly clasping over his nostrils. Tracks rolls her eyes as panic begins to shower over him. "Shit, shit, shit! I slept through my alarm?! Soldier's gonna kick my ass!" The sports fan struggles to stand, a card landing gently upon Tracks's shoulder. Blinking she takes a hold of it with her free hand to peak. It was a trading card like the rest of them. On the front was a man with his arms stretched over his head. Baseball was most likely the sport he played—the red and white clothing he wore looked like any other baseball gear. The date of issue was 1962. Tracker raised a brow. "Bill Monbouquette?" Somehow during her moment of distraction the Scout managed to free himself from his blanket's grasp. Taking a hold of his items he yanks them from her and places them back onto his table.

"NOT. Yours."

"Hmm, obviously. I'm not that big on baseball."

The Scout grunts. "Yeah, I figured since that's all you say to that kid on the phone."

"How many times do I have to tell you, you thick head. That's none of your business."

The man had bent over to fix his belongings, Tracker not once glancing fully at him for courtesy purposes. Sucking her tongue she impatiently waited for him to put on his pants. The sound of scraping and bumping behind her meant that he had been digging for a pair in his drawer. "Fuckin' Soldier—figures he sends you to wake me the fuck up."

"Well you're pretty trite about this," she grunts, but when she got no reply she couldn't help but sigh to herself. Though she couldn't stand him, she was in no position to be questioning why he couldn't stand her. So, after the first few weeks of being there as his teammate, she learned to accept their differences to a certain degree. "…so who's Bill Monbouqette?"

The Scout's little patience began to ferment into agitation—why she had to be in there he didn't know. A little part of him wanted to push her back out the window, but knowing her she'd pull him right out with her. "A baseball player." Tracks seethed.

"I got that you moron. I mean who is he, who does he play for?" She could hear the Scout grunting behind her. "He used to play for the Boston Red Sox. Now he's with the damn Yankees."

"He sounds pretty loyal to you Boston folk~."

Scout snorts as he buckles his belt. "Yeah well he's switching off to the Giants soon. It's fuckin' obvious." The girl tapped her foot, her nose itching from the dust that flew by. "Hng. I wouldn't know."

"Red Wilson, Pete Burnside, Eddie Yost? Any of 'em ring a bell?" The woman gave him a look, and Scout rubs his temples. "Damn you're dense—the Detroit Tigers?"

"Soldier needs you in ten minutes."

"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying! Fuck," his voice rumbles as he pulls his shirt over his head. The Scout didn't even bother to grab his hat. Passing her he grabs a can of bonk and exits the room. Heading towards the training area he came to notice Tracks following not too far behind, his hat and headset firmly upon her grasp. Squeezing his can he gazes over his shoulder. "Why are you following me?"

"Because the mission is in an hour—I have nothing better to do. Might as well watch him kick your butt while I wait."

The young man growls at her sly remark and signature smirk. Biting his lip the door slides open, the Soldier turning to gaze at the two as they enter. Scout opens his arms, grinning cockily as usual. "Hey, what's up Doe?"

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU JUST MISSED, SON!?" The husky man stomps over and jams a finger into the Scout's chest. The young man nearly dropped his can as his back bumps against Tracker. The two runners look to their senior officer, their eyes wide with confusion and shock. Soldier continues to jab his finger against the boy's sternum. "I OUGHT TO CUT YOUR HEAD OFF AND MOUNT IT IN MY BATHROOM! AND YOU," he spits at Tracker. The Scout gazes over his shoulder, her expression priceless.

"Ahh, me?"

"YES, YOU…GOOD JOB." Soldier reaches over and grabs onto their wrists. Unwillingly they were dragged into the middle of the training area before they were released. Scout shakes his arm off, his muscles tense. "What the hell are we doing here? Training's over! So what if I missed it, I needed my beauty sleep!"

"DO NOT LECTURE ME!" the Soldier exclaims, his thumb pressing against a red button. Suddenly the cutouts painted BLU bounce up, one nearly smacking him square in the jaw. A loud yelp echoes through the room as he bounces back, some of his soda spilling out. Bumping into Tracks she squeaks, her body stumbling back. A cutout startles her and she slams into the Scout, more soda flopping out onto the floor. Scout snarls, shaking the liquid from his palm. "Awe, FUCK man!"

"Sorry!"

"TEN HUT!" The two stand straight, arms down and heads up. Their expressions, however, looked as if they went through this so many countless times that they had grown tired of it. The Soldier leans into the Scout's personal space. "WHAT ARE YOU HOLDING, BOY?"

"Bonk, what else?" "DO NOT REPLY TO ME WITHOUT MY SAY, MAGGOT!"

"But you fuckin' asked OUCH!" a shovel smacks the boy on top of his head. Jerking he rubs the sore spot, eyes squeezed shut while can still in hand. Tracks held in a chuckle. "WHAT ARE YOU HOLDING, TRACKER?!"

"Scout's…hat and headset?" "ARE YOU HIS WIFE?"

"What?! N-No!"

"THEN WHY ARE YOU HOLDING ONTO HIS POSSESSIONS? DO YOU FEEL SLAVE TO THIS MAGGOT?!" Without hesitation she tosses the Scout's items to him, the objects slapping him on the side of the face. He stumbles, the soda pouring onto his shirt. His back slams against a cutout, cracking it. Now that made the Soldier angry. As he continues to pressure the two mercilessly, stifled chuckles echo in the upper levels of the room. The Sniper leans against the railing, his glasses hanging off his shirt. Slapping his knee he lets out a raspy laugh. "Watch, the bastard's killin' 'em!" Beside him the Spy shakes his head at the scene. "Perhaps maybe now they will learn to work with one another." Snickering he raises his cigarette to his lips and breathes in a good amount of smoke.

"Can't agree with you more, mate. I got to admit this is a good idea you thought up. Good thing Soldier agreed to it," the Sniper slides his glasses back on before turning away. But before they could continue their conversation an alarm went blaring off. The men stop dead in their tracks, the Soldier freezing her jerking his head up.

"WARNING: RED TEAM, BLU IS ATTEMPTING TO INFILTRATE YOUR BASE!"

Tracks's mouth parts as she listens to the message, the Scout swiping his hair back and slipping his headgear on. "We're being broken into again?" she looks to her male counterpart. Throwing his head back he chugs the rest of his drink before jerking it to her. Shakily her fingers catch it. Tracks stares after the Scout, his form racing out the double doors with the Soldier close behind him. The two had already drawn out their weapons. Soldier's voice boomed through the halls. "READY UP MEN, PROTECT THE BASE! GO, GO, GO!"

"Tracka!" Looking up she watches as the Sniper waves his arm to her, the Spy's body instantly cloaking away. Nearby the door swung open—Spy had raced to the fight. The Sniper pulls out his rifle.

"Meet me up in the tower!" She gives him a questioning look. "But, Snipes-"

"Don' question me and do et!" he had already raced through the same doors that Spy had. Taking several unsure bounces she races towards the exit. Running down the halls she had figured that the fastest way to the sniper tower was going outside. First she sprints into her room to grab her belongings—it wasn't long until she too began to leave her weapons within the privacy of her own dorms. Pushing her window open the Tracker leaps out and lands firmly upon the sandy waves. The hot rays of the sun could not penetrate her jacket, but it still managed to make her skin tingle. Upon breathing in the baking heat her chest started to shrivel from the inside. "AGH!" Tracks gasps—that damn metal piece was cutting her up again! With messy turns she skidded left and right, her feet struggling to keep their grip. Almost every limb in her body wanted to give out. A flash of blue jumps before her. The BLU Demoman aims his deadly weapon.

"GAH!" Raising her arms she flings the Bonk can to his face and hits him straight in the eye. Surprisingly it works, his body stumbling back as the Tracker slings her leg straight into his face. Blood splatters, his body rolling back from her forceful kick. Before the man could even land a strike onto her a knife thrusts into his chest, killing him instantly. Spy's figure appears within a smoky haze, his face stern. "Hurry—get to the tower. I will cover you."

"I can help down here you know."

"Oh? You just threw a **can **at your opponents face. Besides, even if you _were _ready your heart hasn't adapted to the voltage yet. Quickly head for the tower and stay there!" Pulling out his kit he instantly disguises himself before disappearing within the alley. Tracks fumes with frustration, her body aching and pleading for her to rest. Climbing the ladder was seemingly more dangerous than running along the streets. Gunfire flew by, and at one point she nearly fell. If she were to land from such a height she would surly splat when landing. The floor door banged several times before flying open, the Sniper preparing to attack with his kukri rose over his head. Reaching down he grabs the offender, his fingers wrapping around clothing. The Sniper pulls them up ready to strike. The Tracker grunts, her back slamming against a stack of boxes nearby.

"…hello."

"Sorry—thought you were the BLU Spoi," he dusts her shoulder off before kicking the floor door shut. Sliding a box above the trapdoor he returns to the window, the rifle already seat up to shoot. "Ready, Sheila?" Tracks grunts, her binoculars in hand. As always they began to use the tactics they've been using for months now. The two were a perfect match—nothing could hide from the Tracker, and no one would survive the Sniper's deadly shots. "The Medic's in trouble."

"I got 'im, Sheila."

"DAMN! Nice," Tracks chuckles, the Sniper smirking. "I never miss," he responds, reloading his gun before scanning the area again. Down below a trail of dust flew through the air. The Scout's footsteps were quick. His swiftness brought him to great heights. Jumping up he dodges a dangerous stream of fire from the BLU Pyro. Landing upon a building the Scout grins to the Soldier, his rocket attack obliterating the enemy. Body parts flew throughout the air, blood splattering against the walls. Heavy's bullets rained the small corridors, the Medic's prized gun healing all who required it.

"READY, DOCTOR?!"

The Scout's eyes widen. Peering out the window he spots the BLU Heavy, the BLU Medic close behind him. Scout curses, backing away slowly. "Shit, shit move it Cyclops move!" Near him the Demoman aims his gun towards the enemy Medic. "Take 'im out before he-" a bullet flies through the man's single eye, his body falling back and slamming harshly against the ground. Scout screams, his arms jerking up to guard him. "…oh fuck," he pants staring down at the bleeding corpse.

A bullet flies by his head. Scout falls back, his body crawling out the door. The BLU Sniper kept the Scout in his deadly sights. Taking in a deep breath the Scout could feel his heart begin to race. The sound of a charge roars from outside of his safe haven. Bullets fly through the walls. A stray grazes his shoulder. Hissing the Scout grabs the injury and jumps up. He charges towards the window, his arm guarding his face before crashing through the window. Landing was more painful than he was expecting. His body jerks up, his teeth gripping onto his tongue too tight. Blood seeped through his pressed lips, his face cringing tightly from the pain. "AAAGH…MEDIC!"

"MEDIC!"

"M-MEDIC!"

Tracker bites her lip. "Shit…" she grunts. The BLU Heavy had been ÜberCharged, his gun swinging side to side and tearing apart the screaming REDs. The Pyro and Engineer had been forced back, their hands coated in blood. She could hear the Sniper curse as he attempted to aim for the Medic. Tracks snaps her head to him. "Heavy, shoot the Heavy!"

"There's no point when he's charged, Sheila! Nothin' can get through 'im. I need to aim for their Medic!"

Narrowing her eyes she spots the Scout's body. He smashes through the window in a dire escape, the glass slicing his tense body and tearing his worn clothes. As his body lands he produces a scream, calling for assistance. His voice was loud enough to catch the unwanted attention of a BLU.

_Stay here and don't leave…Sniper and Spy told you so. Sniper and Spy will kill you if you do it. Just don't do it. Stay. __**Staaay**__…_

"…I'm coming," she huffs, pushing the window open and sliding her body through. The Sniper gasps, his body shooting up and reaching to grab her wrist. The Australian misses by a mere inch, the girl's body sliding against the steep metal roof. "TRACKS!"

Her clothes tug up, the metal roof burning her skin as she slid against it. Jumping onto her feet she allows herself to slide down, hopping upon reaching the edge and leaping onto another angled roof. Her shoes screech from the immense friction, her soles wearing out by the second. Dust flies, a cloud of dirt patching the air with every step she makes. From a distance the Medic and Heavy notice her presence. The Medic shakes his head, "Tracker! Stop! Zere ist danger!"

Holding onto her MOCK 10 the Tracker rolls into view. Her head snaps up. The Scout had been shoved onto the floor, the BLU Spy wrestling to embed his knife into his jugular. Scout hisses, his arms aching and threatening to give out. "GGRRR…AHH…FUCK!"

"Scout!"

The Tracker lunges forward, her shoulder ramming against the Spy's side. "Get OFF of him!" The BLU Spy choked. A shimmer blinded her. The woman grabs onto his wrist, her eyes fighting the temptation to close. But the blinding light was burning her eyes. The BLU Spy bites down against his cigarette, the paper tube nearly slicing in half. A low grumble claws through his throat as the knife closes in. Tracker gasps, his hand wrapping around her neck. She shoves him against the ground, knocking the wind out of him.

"Quoi…? So you are the woman…that the Administrator brought in…" Tracks could feel her head beginning to spin, the itching in her chest beginning to burn.

Suddenly the BLU Spy's head jerks to the side, a bat slamming against his head. Rolling to the side he swings his knife, the blade missing. Scout swings his weapon from below, the bat slamming against his jaw. The Scout used all of his strength for that once swing, his voice filled with malice. "BOINK!"

The boxes behind him flatten upon impact. The loud crunching sound of his bones breaking made even the Tracker twitched. For a moment the Scout remained still, but when he turned to look at her she felt her heart stun. A large cut bled over his left eye, tearing through his eyebrow while dirt and small bruises marked his angular face. The cuts throughout his body reflected some light; the glass jammed into his flesh repulsively noticeable. Raising his palm he rubs the blood that dripped from his lip, his chest heaving. "What's cookin', doll face."

She rubs her sore neck, a bruise beginning to form. "Nothin' much, cupcake," she grunts hoarsely. The Scout glares, his cocky grin now gone. Flurries of bullets tear away the wall near him, the Scout tumbling down. The roar of a bullet screamed through the air. The BLU Heavy had lost his ÜberCharge. Up in the tower the Sniper reloads his gun, his lips pulled back as profanity strings from his mouth. "C'mon Sheila, get outta there."

Reaching over she grabs onto his wrist and pulls him away. "LET GO, DAMMIT!"

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" Pulling him ahead with both hands the two run alongside each other now, their speed in sync. For a moment he gazes at her, stunned. Tracker winks to the man mockingly, a shiver going up his spine. Gritting his teeth he draws out his scattershot, eyes darting side to side for any threats. "YO DOC, ENGIE WHERE ARE YA?!" Distant calls could barely be heard when the firepower became louder. Tracks snaps her head to the side, attempting to location the noise. She takes her binoculars out. "I'll find 'em!" But then her abdomen throbbed with pain. A wrench slams straight into her stomach. Every muscle within her body tenses as it hits the ground. "Auughh why…with the…hostility…"

"C'mon hot shot you wanna piece of me?! Come get it!" the Scout dodges his swing, his bat flying into the man's gut. "Hey hardhat, BONK!" As the BLU Engineer stumbles back a bullet digs through his forehead and out the other end. Scout spins to see the Sniper's hiding spot. "Way ta nearly kill me," he spits out some blood before turning to Tracks. Miraculously to him she was able to push herself up, a look of pure nauseous and irritation on her face. "Fuckin' shit," she coughs, her chest on her verge of exploding. "This…thing is hurting...why couldn't the Medic do it after..." Scout tilts his head up, his tongue running along blood coated teeth. "Get over it." As the Scout turns his head a small gust of wind blows against his sweat coated cheek. A thump was heard, and the two gazed at each other before looking to the wall near them. Embedded within the wood surface was an arrow. Another flies by, the zooming sound hushed but ominous. "RUN!" the Scout shoves her forward. Their lungs took in their fullest capacities, the sodding heat near unbearable. Gunfire roared in the distance as they closed in on the main battle. Tracks wheezes, her breathing harsh. "Scout…my chest is hurting," she gasps. He looks at her, his pace not changing. "Well what do you want me to do about it?!"

"WHY are you being such a jerk?! Agh…_crap_ this hurts. I could have stayed with Sniper instead of freakin' help you!" Each word was a pain to let out. The humming of an arrow flies by, and the Tracker's chokes on her words. For some reason her vision began to fade, her teammate growing farther by the second. Reaching forward her legs come to a stop.

"…Scout…"

He heaves, his eyes burning from the sweat and blood that stricken his face. Stopping he turns to glare at her, but the sight was enough to slash his very words apart. The Scout's mind halts, his teeth catching his tongue and grazing down. Tracker's hands began to shake. She stumbles back slowly, her body swaying.

"…**h-help**.."


	11. The Running Respawn

Pain.

That was a thing that the Tracker never fully experienced. Gang beatings, falling, and other shit incidents were the kinds of **things** she had become tolerant to. Punching her would get you nowhere with her. Pulling a muscle or giving her a black eye? Those didn't matter. But this pain was different. It was so different. Something that she had to get **used** to. The wretched feeling tore apart her naval—just mere inches from her belly button. Any small twitched made her body pulse with incomparable torture. It was so strong and overwhelming that she could feel her knees give out; her back hunch over. Tracker fell to her knees. The impact _would_ have been painful enough to make her gasp, but now even her torn knees were all numb. Struggling to remain still her body sways, her lips quivering as her breaths become unstable. Her eyes rolled down; she tried to fight this. She didn't want to look. She didn't want to see why all of this was hurting so much.

But then she saw it—the damn thing that split her mind in two and rendered her useless in just mere seconds. Something so small had so much power over her now, yet her shaking hands didn't dare to try and pull it out. How could something so avoidable happen? It wasn't possible, this couldn't have been reality. This was a **fucking** trick. But then she looks up to see him. The very look on his face distinguished the lies from the truth.

Tracks was dying.

**_Chapter 10_**

**_The Running Respawn_**

"Tracks!"

Slowly her body gives in to the overwhelming sensation. She falls to the side, and the Scout was quick on his feet. Skidding to a stop he successfully snatches her cringing form. A long gasp escapes her lips—blood curdling and exhausted. Her throat closes within itself, her groans becoming meek. The Scout curses, his eyes looking this way and that. Luckily there were no BLUs near. The arrows ceased from flying. The BLU Sniper was nowhere in sight now, but then again the Scout wasn't sure where he even came from. Right now they were sitting ducks. Tilting his head down he formulated a plan. Get up and get out—yeah, that sounded about right. "Get your ass up," he stands, attempting to pull her up. "We gotta get goin' before the bastard comes back!"

Tracks was pulled up onto her feet, but her body jerks before crashing back down. The Scout reacts, catching her once more. "C'mon! Quite fuckin' around we gotta move!"

"I…ahhh it hurts! Shit, why does this hurt so much...!" Tracks panics, her breathing becoming faster and faster. Her breaths were so quick that even the Scout knew she wasn't taking in much air. The young man flares his nostrils.

"Look this isn't that bad I've had fuckin' worse!" he tugs onto her sleeve. Her arm was limp, her fingers touching near the raw wound. Giving out a loathsome growl the Scout observers the seriousness of her injury. The arrow drips with thick crimson liquid-bits of her own muscles and tissues wrapping around the metal tip. The Scout's eyes roll down, and he noticed the small pool that already started to form against the dirty ground. The warm blood had rolled towards his fingers, tainting his bandages. Raising his hands he rubs his fingers together. The once thin blood became sticky and vicious as it mixed with the chalky dust.

"…shit," he curses before flicking the residue from his palms. Looking at her some more the Scout narrows his gaze—she wasn't moving anytime soon. The easiest thing to do was to leave her there. Diverting his gaze he pulls himself from her, his legs ready to take him to the war. But a hand firmly grabs onto his shoulder. Grunting he looks back to her. "What the hell!?"

"N-No, don't leave me…" her face cringed from the pain, her teeth now tainted with a faint pink hue. The Scout huffs, his body twitched with his urge to flee. He furrows his brows. "I gotta go back out there dammit—once you die you'll respawn now let…go!" he jerks his arm around, but her grip refused to release him.

"Why would you leave a teammate behind!? What kind of partner are you...!" She groans through clenched teeth. No longer did she even possess the right mind to fight with him. That was bad. Her eyes pleaded as blood continued to fly out between her pearly whites. Then she coughs, her voice squeezing as her body shivered. This wasn't a state he ever saw her in—it was almost painful to look at. Scout bit his lip, his eyes glaring to the side. Shit—now he felt guilty for planning on leaving her. A stray grenade blows up nearby, and immediately he shields her with his own body. Rocks fly by, the shards stinging as they smack against his lean back. Scout seethes, glaring to the side as dirt embedded into his cuts. The slice on his head beats with pain, fresh blood pouring from his new lacerations as his heart continued to race. A soft hand wraps around his bicep. The Scout looks up, his eyes meeting hers. Clenching her jaw Tracks reaches up to hold onto his shoulders, her breathing uneven. "I'm…going to have to get used to this.." she gasps, the Scout wrapping his fingers around her sides. He snorts, an irritated and uncomfortable look on his face as she drew closer.

"Yeah—ya think?"

"Shut up…hng.." Using his body she pulls herself up. Blood pours from her side. Tracker's abs twitch, the base of the arrow rubbing against her insides. For a moment it became numb, but as seconds passed it seemed to have grown worse and worse. She throws her head back, a scream ripping from her swollen throat. The Scout catches her falling form, his arms wrapping around her waist. He grunts as he holds her shivering body in place.

"We've got no time for this! Just hurry up and die!"

"No! No…what if I don't…respawn?!" she snarls at him, eyes glaring as she bore her teeth with frustration. The Scout shakes his head. "Of course you'll respawn, dammit! Why wouldn't you?!" Her fingers wrap around his shirt tighter before pulling him in threateningly. The fact that she was stil this much of a bitch surprised him. In fact, it might have even scared him. "Listen you little brat, either help me or...AUH!" her his slinks down, another cough erupting from her sore throat. Blood sprinkles out, the salty texture making her sick. After several deep breaths she looks up into his blue eyes, and glare evident as she fought the urge to cry. "I…I'm scared…," she mumbles, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. Shifting her gaze she attempts to ignore the shocked look on the Scout's face. Surprisingly he couldn't spit out a sly remark, and the silence was becoming unbearable. Scout stares as her cheeks continued to burn, his heart twisting in his very chest. The hell was he feeling? The look of her blushing, red face with tears flowing down was by far the rarest state to see her in, but for some reason he couldn't divert his gaze. Slowly he lowers his arms to her, not really knowing how to react to this. "Hey…get a hold of yerself," he lightly touches her shoulders. But then she starts to gag. Tracks coughs, blood spilling from her mouth. Scout jerks back, his face twisting with disgust. "Awe…fuck!" he curses as she fully leans onto him now. He moves his head away uncomfortably. "Sorry…it…hurts."

He could feel his chest pull when she wraps her fingers around his shirt. The small tug pulls him closer, his body so tense that he, too, just might give out. Tracks attempts to push herself away, but instead she presses her face into his chest. Warm tears roll from her eyes and are absorbed into his sweat-drenched shirt. The woman presses her teeth together until they started to ache, her arms wrapping around his back and pulling him closer. Her grip made his breath hitch, her shivering arms holding on for dear life. To her this was pathetic, but the pain was just too much. She just had to hold onto something. Scout was the closest thing to her. "Why couldn't they have shot me in the head…" she cries, voice low and scratchy as the tears continued to stream down. Blood trickled down her chin, staining her track jacket and fair chest. A thought strikes her—maybe she didn't have to die? Perhaps she could avoid it. Taking her left arm she wraps her fingers around the arrow. For a moment she holds her breath, her eyes glaring into the distance. Scout's eyes widen. "Wait, wait!"

She tugs, the arrow only moving so little. For a thin piece of wood it sure as hell had a tight grip. The damn thing was really lodged in there. Scout covers her mouth, her screaming muffled by his rough bandages. Carefully he tilts her head. Pressing her face against his shoulder he retrieves her arm. "Leave it there."

"First you wanna ditch me now you wanna help me!"

"I-I know...shut up will ya?! Listen to me, for cryin' out loud!" he tugs her arm away once again as it drew near the arrow.

"Take it out...t-take it outta me..." she wheezes, her chest heaving for air. The Scout continues to look around for any sign of danger before snarling at her. "I aint a doctor, you idiot! Do you **want **it to bleed out?!" She throws him a glare before shutting her eyes, her body curling into his. Tracker gazes down at her shaking palms. Dying truly was unavoidable when doing this. "Damn the Administrator…" she curses. True, the woman mentioned this. It was in the contract—but Tracker would do anything for the kid. Even if it meant dying again and again. Drawing out his pistol the Scout scans the area. Tracks narrows her eyes. Grabbing his arm she forces his aim towards her.

"Shoot me.."

Scout takes a moment to realize what she said before shaking his head. "Are you crazy?!"

"Just...do me a favor will ya! Remember the fight…we had last week if it'll help," her words gurgled when blood began to flood within her mouth. She throws her head to the side, spitting onto the ground. Tracks coughs, her hand releasing him to grip onto her neck. "Please…do it," she pleads hoarsely. The Scout clenches his grip on the pistol, his forehead sweating.

"I **hate** begging…shoot me! Just don't let me...sit here like this," each word became softer and softer. The Scout clenches his jaw, eyes shifting from his pistol to her constantly. Her eyes watered, her face blushing a bright red. Blood coated her light skin; the brown locks of her hair sticking onto her neck and chin. Every gasp she made was light and desperate, her body twitching ever so lightly within his grasp. She was weak and dependent on him, and whether she knew it or not she didn't want to let him go. Then the thought truly hit him—she was afraid. The Tracker was afraid to die, and this favor was her way of masking it. Usually the Scout didn't mind downing any RED who needed it—most of the time they would take it. But he had almost forgotten that this was her first time going out, and the first time was always the most dreadful.

"...fuuuck," he returns his pistol into the holster before lifting her up in his arms. Tracks snarls. "ARRGH…FUCK! What the hell…are you doing?!" she grabs onto her side, the arrow wiggling in place. Shakily she grabs onto it and tries to remove it again. The Scout stands, his eyes looking this way and that as he races down the path. The agony blossoms again, and Tracks turns her head and presses her flushed face into his shoulder.

"Put…me down," she threatened like an injured cat.

"I'm bringing you to the Medic, so sit tight and wait will ya?!"

Pressing her lips together she resists the urge to yell at him—yelling alone made the injury fucking hurt. Parting her lips she bites onto his shoulder, trying to hold in her tears. The Scout is stunned, but he continues his pursuit for the Medic. With very quick breaths she tries to remain calm. Scout tightens his hold on her, his movements quick. "Slow breaths," he huffs, turning a corner. She knocks, and he could feel the small breaths upon his neck become more and more slow. With blurry vision she darts her eyes left to right, trying to find a distraction from her agony. Nothing came. The metal within her chest claws once again, her arrow tugging against her clothing and tearing her skin. Small whimpers escape her swollen lips, muffled by the man's firm muscles. He leaps over crates and boxes. Once landing the arrow is forced in deeper. Digging her teeth into his shoulder she lets out a muffled scream. The Scout holds his breath, his face burning with a sudden heat as pain jolted through his stiff neck.

"Nnnnnnnghhh!"

"Try not to bite so hard will ya?!" he snaps at her, cheeks flushed red. Near them, the BLU Soldier aimed down his rocket's sights. "_Two_ maggots—one rocket." Pulling his lips back into a sadistic grin he pulls the trigger.

"It huuuuurts," she moans into his neck, the Scout twitching as she bit down harder. He growls, "YO, LAY OFF THE BITING!" The rocket penetrates the building beside them, the explosion so powerful it knocks the Scout off of his feet. Loses his grip the two reach for each other. Another rocket flies by—the force knocks Tracks straight down. She slams sharply onto the ground, the fletching of the arrow hammered straight into her body. Tracker releases a bloodcurdling scream. Scout's body slams into a wall nearby before landing harshly upon the ground. He coughs, his lungs stunned. Raising his arm he rubs his fingers along his temples.

"Sh…shit…agh."

The Scout pulls his head up, watching as Tracker rolls along the ground onto her side. Her eyes were wide with pain, her fingers clawing against the ground. Exhaling he slams his fist against his ground and pushes himself up. "M…Medic," his voice was too quiet.

"Medic…!" he attempted to project, but the word was concealed within the surrounding war. Tilting his head to the side he spits out some blood. Rubbing his mouth he leans against the wall, the wood broken and dented from the impact he had made. The Scout scans the area, searching for the BLU Soldier. He was nowhere to be found. Narrowing his eyes his ears catch another scream. Tracks had been biting her own arm, her hand gripping onto a handful of dirt.

"Oh my god…oh **shit**…why did I sign up for this…ahah!" she had been fighting hysteria.

"Tracker!" he sniffs his nose, the blood tickling his nostrils. She acknowledges him, head adjusting to look at his approaching form. The Scout limps over, his left leg sore beyond comprehension. Blood rolls down the side of his pant leg, staining his pure white socks before wetting his black sneakers. He grabs onto his aching shoulder, rubbing the fresh bite wound. "I'm comin'," he grunts. Why he was helping her this much neither one had the slightest clue. Letting out a shaky breath she gives him a pained glare.

"Oh no…take your fuckin'…time…" she gags. But suddenly a man appears behind him, a weapon in hand. Tracks's eyes widen. "Scout, behind..you!"

The Scout turns, the BLU Sniper raising his kukri above his head. "Got you!" he swings the knife, the Scout barely dodging. Backing up against the wall he ducks down, dodging the heavy strike. It slices along the wood, splinter pieces flying through the air. Scout shields his face, a scream of anger roaring form his chest as the BLU Sniper slashes down at him. Tracker watches as Scout blocks it with his bat, pushing back with all of his might. The enemy stumbles, his abdomen open. The Scout swings his bat inward, the metal weapon colliding with the man's gut. "Bonk, you asshole!" The opposing Sniper gags, his had falling off from the impact. Gritting his teeth he dodges the Scout's second attack, sneaking behind him. Scout raises his arms, his fingers wrapping around the blade that threatened to dig into his throat. Slowly it slices the curve of each finger, his teeth clenching down. But his arms were weak, and his injuries began to get the best of him.

"Oh...fuck me…" Pushing herself up the Tracker bites down against her tongue. She yells, the sensation horrible and not even describable. Running forward she uses all of her weight to speed up her sprint. The Scout's eyes widen as Tracker closes in, her glare intense. "Why don't you finish the job?!" she spat. The BLU Sniper pulls his knife free, and the kukri slices deep within the Scout's fingers. The young boy spat out a curse, the enemy Sniper throwing him to the side. Scout glares, "The hell are you doing…run!"

_Do it, do it. Fucking do it!_

Tracks grabs onto the front of her arrow, the sharp tip slicing into her palm.

_FUCKING DO IT!_

Without hesitation she rips it out, swinging it above her head. A surge of the most purest pain coursed through every vein in her body. Blood trickles from the arrow, raining through the air before pitter pattering along the dry, hot ground. "LAY OFF O' HIM!" she screams, eyes white and pure with rage. The BLU Sniper grunts with surprise, his kukri swinging sideways and aiming for her abdomen. She leaps forward. "HAVE YOUR ARROW...BACK!" Tracks swings the arrow downward before bringing it back up, aiming for the man's neck. "Fuck, wait!" the Scout throws his leg out, his heart pounding. If he could kick the bastard down then he wouldn't take her out. A splattering sound pounded against the wall. Warm, rich liquid stains the Scout's face. Stunned, he watches as the two stood for what seemed like an eternity. Soon their bodies became limp. Sand flies up as they hit the ground, the sound of blood dripping onto the aged concrete that they laid on. The Scout had been holding his breath the entire time, his body as still as stone. Swallowing the lump in his throat she pushes himself up. The BLU Sniper was sprawled on the ground, the tip of the arrow punctured through the top of his head. Then he looks to the Tracker. The kukri slit her abdomen in…

The Scout shot his gaze to the side, his breathing heavy. "…" Raising his hand he rubs his mouth, his head shaking furiously for a moment. He couldn't look at her. The way she went out was way fucking worse than how he did. Scout takes in a sharp breath, his hand lowering itself to his shoulder once more. "Fuck…"

Opening her eyes the woman laid motionless. Tall white walls surrounded her, the bright florescent lights on the ceiling flickering occasionally. Seconds passed before she gasps, her body jerking up. Frantically she reaches for her abdomen to find no injury. In fact, she found nothing but her clean uniform. "…wha," she pulls her top up. There her stomach was exposed; the skin was as pure and spotless as ever. The Tracker gasps—what in the world just freaking happened? This was just like when she first met the Scout. His injury was gone-spotless. Pushing herself up she throws her locker open. Every bit of gear she owned was back in their original spots, respectively. Tracks gulps, completely dumbfounded. But then it hit her. She was alive.

_Alive_.

Outside the preparations room the Scout leaned against the wall. All previous cuts he had were now gone, and his uniform was spotless. With his legs and arms crossed he chewed casually onto his ballpark bubblegum. Thoughtlessly he blew a bubble and held it in place, waiting patiently for it to pop on its own. The bothersome memory of her face wouldn't leave his head—though he tried to think nothing of it. Admittedly he felt sorry for her, but when the second time comes around he told himself to not feel as much pity for her. She was a damn merc after all. No one felt sorry for the original nine so why should he for her? A scream within the room startled him, his eyes widened as the door slams open. Tracks races out, her body twitching frantically. Turning on her heel she spots him. The Scout stares back completely taken by surprise. A sudden grin brightens her features. Running forward the Tracker grabs onto his cheeks. Scout grunts, his eyes as big as saucers. His mind races.

_What the hell?!_

"I'm ALIVE! I'm alive!" she giggles gleefully, her palms practically pinching his cheeks. The young woman takes a finger and pops the bubble, the gum blanketing over his nose. Closing the space between the two she embraces the Scout, her body bouncing in place. "HNG?!" a strong blush forms over his cheeks. She releases him, grasping onto his cheeks one last time before sprinting down the hall. Turning the corner the young lady slams through the double doors. All of the REDs turned to gaze at her excited form. Throwing her hands into the air she chuckles, "LOOK who made it out **alive**!" Before anyone could begin to speak a strange grunt silences the room. Tracks gulps, her shoulders squeezing inward at the sound. Turning her head she spots the Sniper, his eyes stern beneath his yellow shades. "…Snipes…" she whispers, her face going from ecstatic to guilty in just seconds. Taking her two index fingers she touches them together, a guilty blush engulfing her cheeks. "…hi," she sheepishly smiles at him. Before she could manage to explain herself the painful scratch begins to tear away in her chest again. She quivers, her palms pressing against her sternum. The Sniper approaches her, his large hands pushing against the double doors.

"Follow me. Spoi and me want to have a lil' chat with you," his voice was stern. The serious tone made Tracks wince, her eyes rolling to the men who simply tried to go on about their day. Heavy seemed to have waved, his expression soft. Huffing, she gives him a very subtle wave back before dragging herself after the Sniper.

_Note: I'll have you all know I road to the library in the __**rain**__ to publish this since my internet is out. I am soaking wet as we speak! Everyone is staring at me. Which has inspired me for later chapters. _

_-H.W._


	12. The Running Lapse

"What have we told you, Tracker?" The Spy ceases his pacing, his form leaning down towards her. "Stay **out** of the battlefield." The entire time Tracks had been sitting as the two men towered over her. This was meant to give off a sense of authority. Now, Tracks has never taken being talked down to seriously. All of those times being chased and shit talked to by officers lanky and tubs never really put much of an effect on her. But for some reason she felt her skin burn as these two men discredited her like a child.

**_Chapter 11_**

**_The Running Lapse_**

So this was what it was like having a father—_two_ fathers in fact.

Opening her arms she begins to speak for the first time since this all started. "I get it, but-"

"Why did you not listen to Sniper?"

"I was-" she attempts to defend herself, but the man snaps a glance at her. "Do not interrupt me while I am speaking," he grunts sternly. The Sniper points to her, his entire demeanor similar. "Don't talk while Spoi's talkin'." Puffing her cheeks up she slumps back down, her elbows resting against her knees. The Spy traces his invisible line back and forth again, his arms crossed firmly. His words were drenched with frustration. Squeezing his arms he lets out a long breath. "Because of your actions the BLUs were announced victor." His hard tone made Tracks wince, the click of his dress shoes tapping against the floor menacingly. "What?!" the woman jerks her body up, her bangs puffing like the hair on a cat's back. The man before her narrowed his eyes into mere slits, his fingers beating against his arms. "**You **were their winning kill." Tracks twiddles her thumbs.

"It's because you could not listen that we lost!"

"What do you want me to say? I ran down there because he needed help and-"

"The only one who needs your help is the Sniper. Who did you try to help?" his question made her back tingle. Tracks fell silent, her gaze rolling down. Spy narrows his eyes. "Well?"

"I think it was the Scout, mate," the Sniper spoke up, his form standing tall besides the seated Tracker. Spy raises a brow beneath his mask. "…Scout?" They watched as she diverts her gaze, a look of irritation on her face. A long and exasperated sigh escapes the Spy's lips as he stops before her; his palm rubbing against his aching temple. Cursing in his native tongue he opens his eyes once more.

The young woman flares her nostrils, "I didn't know it was a crime to be a team player."

"Protecting the Scout is **not **your responsibility." She snaps her gaze back up at him. "I wasn't trying to protect him, I **helped **him."

"J'en ai ras le bol, enfant!" he pushes himself away, arms raising to grasp onto his cowled head in frustration. He snaps a glance over his shoulder. "Helping him is not your job. You must learn your place as a support. As the **Tracker**." The young woman jumps to her feet and approaches him angrily. "What if it IS my job?! What'd you want me to do, leave him there to die?! You two are attacking the shit outta me as if I made us lose on purpose. If you hadn't noticed I DIED down there…there was a fuckin' arrow in my gut! Do you have any idea how scary that was? You both've been doing this kind of stuff for years—this is, what, my _fourth _month?! Keeping me up in those shitty sniper spots didn't help at all. If I died before hand I could have been used to it by now! Maybe then I'd be as good as the rest of the lot in this god forsaken shit hole!" The mysterious man hadn't even moved a hair when she spat at him. To be honest, Tracks wasn't sure if she felt more like a disobedient child or his prey. Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushing red as she allowed her body to fall back down onto the cold seat. Tracks placed her hand over her sweating head, her teeth nibbling on her tongue. Spy gives Sniper a glance, the Australian shrugging back. After several moments the Spy lets out another sigh before placing a hand on her shoulder. "…then what do you propose to do, mon petit." He had managed to regain his cool. Tracks raised her hand to her face, her finger rubbing against her itching eyes. Looking to the side she rolls her tongue alone the length of her teeth.

"It's just…let's just say I'm not just meant for being up there with Snipes? I get it—the two of us really **work** but what if there's more to the whole _Tracker_ class then the name originally granted it? W-What if I can work as a support AND a defense?" She falls silent, her hands clasping together as she tried to find the right words. Grunting she shakes her head. "I'm not trying to be a brat. I-I don't want to be a disappointment! That is not what I intended it's just…I feel like I'm wasting my time up there. I wanna be reliable to everyone not just Snipes," she raises her hand to the motionless man, his ears open. Taking in a breath she could feel her confidence crumbling. "…I just wanted to help. I'm sorry I yelled."

Tracks fell silent now, her eyes low. Spy thought, no words escaping his frowned lips. The Sniper relieved himself from his observation duty and approaches the girl. Placing a hand on her shoulder he squeezes it lightly. Tracks looks up to see the small smile on his face. "It's alright Shiela. Spoi was jus' worried about you. Get on up and eat," he helps her up. For a moment she doesn't move, her eyes scanning the Spy's face. He looked rather dull, his eyes not even leaving where she originally sat. Whatever was on his mind it truly bothered her. Reluctantly she walks towards the door, leaving the meeting room. The two men were left in silence.

"…she cannot be both," the Spy finally spoke as he straightens his form slowly. Spinning his body around he slams his fist against his empty palm. "I shouldn't of scolded her, at least not like that. Now she may become mutinous because of my damn temper," he scowls himself. It was obvious that he was inexperienced with younger generations. They all seemed to have been. Sniper removes his glasses, his fingers rubbing against his dry eyes. "Nah—the lil' Shiela jus' felt guilty is all. On the bright side you'd make a decent dad, mate," the sun kissed man grins to the Spy teasingly. Earning a stern glance he watches as the Spy clasps his palm over his mouth.

"Merde…" he mumbles to himself. "She was doing perfect as support. Why does she think she's capable of defense? That's preposterous..."

"Let the girl find her own way o' bein' support. I don' really mind bein' on my own once in a while. Besides, was never one for bein' a _bludger_. Keepin' her caged up with me really got to her. She's from a Big Smoke, Spoi. Michigan got hard kids it 'em." Sniper takes a seat near the man, his hands clasping together as he taps his foot quietly. The French man turns his head to the side in thought. Sniper points to him. "Most ankle bitters are like that, whether they want to be or not. Hmmm…now that I think about it she mostly gets antsy when the blokes in trouble." Spy's eyes widen.

"Scout?"

"Aye. Maybe she's got a bloody thing for 'im. Sire as hell he does. Makes sense why they fight a lot." Spy grunts, his lips pressed together. "This could explain some things…but the Scout is always getting himself caught in a bad situation," the Spy grits his teeth. "Keeping her where she was would prove to be most difficult then."

Giving him a curious glance the Sniper tugs at his lone glove. "Then again maybe we're overthinkin' it," he chuckles as he hears the Spy growl at his statement. "So what's the plan, mate?" Taking a step to the side the Spy seats himself near the Sniper.

"She was raised in the streets of a large city. People like her make their own rules. You remember how Scout was when he came in." A loathsome grunt escapes the Sniper's lips. "Don' bring that up. The girl's tryin' her best to adjust." Taking out his case he retrieves a cigarette, pushing it between his lips before fondling with his silver lighter. "We keep our eyes on them," the Spy lights it, sucking in two lungs worth of smoke. The man near him nods as he slips his glasses back on. "No problem, mate."

Lightly he allowed her finger tips to drag against the smooth walls. Scout made his way down the agonizingly long hallway. Bright lights illuminated every crevice and curve—such a blinding florescent light made his mind numb. Strangely enough it was quiet. By this time around the Soldier would have them train intensely for the sake of not making similar mistakes in the future. Bored, he continues to play with his wrapping.

"What else happened?"

The Scout comes to a halt; that familiar voice was speaking in that same hallway again.

_"That's it. He's at the hospital right now but I've used most of it. He should be fine…I just can't afford the pain pills. The rest of the money I put aside is for the rent."_

"I…I think I have enough"

_"No Tracks! You've given enough—you need some for yourself. Please. You've helped enough as it is."_

"No, I'm fine really. I have more than enough. I'll send it over to you when I get the paycheck tomorrow. I should be over in about five days or so." There was a long pause. As Scout drew in closer he spots her form leaning against the phone, her arm acting as a pillow as she leaned her head against it. "I gotta help him."

_"…alright. Thank you—you have no idea how much this means to me. Here I thought you were going to forget about him." _

"Nah. I can never ferget about him…listen, I gotta go. It's three in the afternoon—I have to get things set up for tomorrow's job."

_"Alright. I'll send him your regards." _

"That'd be great…bye," she gives a meek laugh before hanging up. Pushing herself off of the wall she rubs her nose. Small sniffles managed to escape, and she growls at that fact. The Tracker turns her on her heels, her chest bumping against the Scout. "Huh?" she lets out a small gasp. She hadn't noticed he was there. Shaking her head she went from stunned to irritated. "You eavesdropping again?" she glares before shoving passed him. The Scout grunts. "Well someone woke up on the pissy side of the bed."

"Whatever."

His teeth caught his bottom lip, nibbling as his mind formulated the right thing to say. "Is everything alright with you?" his voice brought up that cocky tone again. Regaining his cool he stalks after her, practically swaggering after her. The Tracker fumes, her shoulders pushed inwards as her fingers rolled into heated fists. "Terrific." It wasn't long until they reached the end of the hall. Reaching forward she yanks onto her knob, the door stuck in its frame. Raising a foot she pushes against the wall, her arms pulling frantically as sweat beaded from her forehead. "Damn you, OPEN!" The Scout raises a brow.

"Try turning the knob…" Tracks blinks. She attempts it, and just as Scout had expected it opens. "Buzz off," she grunts, cheeks red as she walks in. The Scout watches as she practically tore through her room. Her small hands gathered the various bills that were hidden within random locations throughout her bedroom. It accumulated, but the final sum didn't seem to satisfy her. The woman fumes, her hair practically standing. "Dammit—I could have sworn that I had more," her voice was rather tight as she held back the urge to curse herself. It felt as if everything was collapsing on her. The entire time he had still been there observing her. It wasn't long until he realized where her money really went—but he hadn't expected this much was dedicated to back home.

_Makes ya think o' someone, doesn' it? _

He scratches his chin, his nostrils flaring. The Sniper had talked to him for the last few days. They weren't just your average discussions. The man hinted something to the Scout—no matter how the youngster attempted to change the subject it always ended with her. It was torture to say the least. The bastard did it on purpose just to piss the Scout off. The Australian made it a point that no good would come if he made bad, and he made sure those words became reality. At first the Scout didn't care much for it, but then two months in he started feeling guilty. In fact, everyone seemed to have been in on it. Gnawing on his cheek he blows out a long breath. Maybe it was time to try something he thought he'd never do.

Try being nicer.

A soft knock played in her ears. Turning her gaze she sees the Scout leaning against her door frame comfortably. His fist planted against the wall of her room as he made sure to keep on his egotistical façade. Reaching up the boy rubs the back of his neck, his eyes rolling to the side. "So…you look like you aren't doin' too hot. I was wonderin' if you wanted to try lettin' out some steam…" his arm scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. An extremely light blush tickled his face as the girl raised a brow.

"…what?" her face looked questioning. The Scout huffs—he didn't want to ask this shit again.

"When I'm pissed I play ball. I was offerin' to show you how it's done; maybe it'll make you feel better. I know ya hate it, but it's worth givin' a shot right?" he shrugs, a grin playing his face. He could feel an awkward chuckle escape through his clenched teeth. How the hell was he supposed to prove that he was being legit? The girl kneeled on the floor; her hands nestled within her lap. Raising her hand she rubs against her angered pink cheeks in thought. The Scout continued to watch her impatiently. Though she was a very rough girl there were small moments that the Scout would pick up—moments where her cheeks would blush. Sometimes the curve of her back would be a bit _curvier_. Or other times her bottom lip would pucker out when he ticked her off. Admittedly he bumped into her a week earlier, making her drop all of her dinner onto the floor. Yeah, he got a black eye afterwards but he saw her made that particular _face_. She shifts, her head gazing down at the dollars on her lap. The Scout darted his eyes away from her, his brows furrowed. What the hell was he just thinking? The atmosphere became awkward for him after that.

Tracks cringes her nose. This couldn't have been real.

"…you're a real joke you know that right?" she grunts. Standing she grabs a nearby envelop, shoving the money inside before approaching the door. The Scout's eyes widen as she pushes against him. He stumbles back, arms open defensively.

"Yo, what the hell man?!"

"Go screw with someone else you ass." A gust of wind blows his cap back. Dumbfounded, the Scout's gaze was glued to the door. Loud stutters escape his shocked lips, his hands reaching up to grab is exposed forehead. "…the HELL?!" he yells to her door. Furiously he gives it a kick, the wood moaning beneath his cleats. Silence—the rage seemed to have died down, his blue eyes gazing to the ground. "Frickin' waste of my damn time…stupid broad!" Bending over he retrieves his hat, his skin tingling as he opens his door and slams it shut behind him.

The next morning was the usual training, and not long after it was the usual battle. Surprisingly Tracks accompanied the Sniper, his eyes constantly giving her small glances here or there. He had noticed she didn't say anything other than anything target-related. Her eyes were rather dull, her body still. The Sniper thought to himself, and purposely he misses his target. Not even that earned a response from her. He sucks his teeth.

"Why the long silence, Shiela?" he shot his original target to the dust. The bullet ricocheted from the wall, blasting through the BLU Pyro's skull. He seemed to have died with his finger on the trigger, his fire engulfing his own men. The Sniper watched as they ran into each other frantically, a loud laugh escaping his tanned lips. "Did you see that, Shiela?! Ahahahahah!" He earns a slight hum, the man falling silent. Shaking his head he reloads his gun, returning back to seriousness.

"C'mon, Tracks. If you don' talk to me I can't help you." The girl bit her lip, her eyes pressed against her binoculars. Digging her fingers under her shin guards she scratches the sticky skin anxiously. "I want to help," he reassures to her. Some seconds passed as she lets herself sigh.

"I'm…worried. BLU Medic 5:00."

"About?"

Another shot—she watches as the Medic's head flops to the side, his glasses slinging off before his body hits the ground. The BLU Heavy seemed at a lost, his body turning in search for him. Tracks chuckles to herself at the sight. "Family back in Detroit need money…"

"You ain't got 'nough?"

"Nope," she grunts. A low chuckle escapes his lips. "We all have issues when it comes to money. When you grow up you start not carin' about that. Loses its worth. I'm sure they'll manage with what you send 'em." Tracks felt herself sigh, the man near her raising a brow. "That ain't all?"

"…Scout's upset." He chuckles at her words, causing her to wrinkle her nose. "When ain't he?"

"Yeah well…he's got a right," her words were mumbled as she scans the area. Though the Sniper hadn't noticed, she was watching the Scout slam through the various enemies, the Medic right behind him. The Sniper raises his hand to rub against his stubble. "Hell, the Scout doesn' know Smissmas from New Years. But him bein' boiled up gives you the right to make amends, eh? You work with 'im-might as well." His words pulled her attention, her coffee brown eyes gazing to him. The man was being supportive to his team like always. Dragging her teeth along her lip she leans on her guarded knees, her fingers still digging into her knees. The competition was tight, but the REDs managed to win by a single kill. Impatiently Tracker sat within the meeting room, her legs bouncing as she struggled to remain still on her seat. To her left was the Spy, his posture very proper as he smoke his cigarette. The men around her carried out casual conversation. The chair nearest to her right creaks from a sudden weight. A big hand pats her back lightly.

"Hello, Tracker." A warm sensation tickled within her stomach. It was the Heavy. She gives him a grunt, and he squeezes her shoulder in response. "I heard you respawn for first time yesterday. Is there any pain?" a hidden sincerity was in his voice. He could sense she had become tense. "Not really—just my chest. This…metal thing is killing me," she scratches her collar bone. If only she hadn't just reminded herself then she wouldn't feel that dull clawing again. Her breathing hitches for a second, the Heavy giving her a low chuckle.

"It is no problem—normal feeling. Will go away soon! Medic always right, but..." He leans in to whisper, the Medic on the other side of the room. "Sometimes...I think he is like mad doctor..." The German seemed to have heard this, his eyes widened. A small smile plays her lips, the Heavy giving her another pat before holding his finger before his lips. This was to be a secret between them for now on. Rolling her eyes up she notices the Scout—he had been ignoring her the entire day. Chewing on his usual gum he leaned against a chair that the Demoman sat on, his arms crossed and eyes glaring at a random spot in the room. The door opens, Ms. Pauling entering with a thick tower of envelops. Earning various greetings she shuts the door behind her with her backside, her arms completely full. "Good new boys, your payments are in." Several cheered, the woman dodging the various arms that flung about bottles of Red Shed. Like an expert she hands them their hard earned cash, her eyes never leaving the stack. "Here you are Spy," she hands him his share. He takes it, nodding gently before thanking her in his native tongue.

"Heavy," she allows the large man to take his share. Tracker gave her a soft smile, but the woman had only stared at her. "…uhh, don't I get any Ms. Pauling?" she questions as the woman seemed to fumble with her clipboard. Adjusting her glasses she reads through it with rapid speed. "…I'm sorry Tracks, but it says here that you don't earn this month's pay." Tracks's eyes widen, her fingers curling into fists.

"What?" Ms. Pauling frowns apologetically. "Because of your previous performance the Administrator felt it was appropriate to redact this month's performance from your records." The young girl's heart pulls painfully. "So it's as if I didn't work for an entire month?!"

"Well…yes," she nods as Tracker slumps down, her head tucked in between her legs. The room fell silent, and Heavy reaches over to pat her back softly.

"You have **got **to be kiddin' me," she sniffles. Raising her hand she rubs her swelling eyes, her but planted against the ground of her floor. Her back pressed firmly against her mattress, her head leaning back against the comforter. Tears streamed down her face—this couldn't have been happening. "I fucked up…I freakin' **fucked **up," her words shivered. Tracks presses her hands over her face. She hated this. She hated it when she cried. It made her feel so weak and, more so, extremely foolish. How could her actions screw her over so much? All because she wanted to help _him_. A whine escapes her pressed lips, her face slamming in between her knees as she slams her feet upon the ground furiously. She looked like an enraged child. If she hadn't of helped him then all of this wouldn't be happening. It would have been best to leave the bastard out there to die. Hell, he was going to right?

A low laugh echoed in her room as she presses her hands over her eyes again. Dragging her fingers away she swipes away her tears before they could even fall. "Wow…I'm such a bitch," she sighs—first she hated him, then she felt guilty, and now she hated him again. Tracks had been wondering how much lower she could go now. With a loud sniffle she turns her head to the side. 16:00 hours. "…"

_KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK._

"Scout…?" That nervous feeling ripples at her skin. Taking her hand she rubs the goose bumps. However, she doubted it would help. It wasn't cold in the hall, so she knew the real issue had to be her nerves. The sound of the AC kicks in; the only sound that seemed to respond to her. Sucking on her tongue she knocks again, this time a tad bit quieter.

"Scout? Open up…" Tracks could have sworn she heard fumbling—so he _was _awake.

"_And Monbouqette sprints to second base!_" the voice was an announcer. The sound of a radio fuzzed within his room. She huffs—he was listening to some baseball game?

"How long are you gonna ignore me?!" After several seconds the sounds of cheering grew—he had rose to volume. Something told her that no matter how hard she'd try he wouldn't respond. Tracks could feel her lip threaten to quiver, his throat tightening. "…" Turning she prepared to enter her room. But then she realized something. Tracker ran down the hall, passed uncountable rows of doors and down a single flight of stairs until she was out the front entrance. The sliding doors couldn't keep up, and she bounced before it impatiently. The hot sun stung her skin, her track jacket tied around her waist. Several stumbles later she was beneath his window, and she hops up to scale the wall once again. Sweat slips her grip, but she manages to reach his window sill. Tugging against the handle it doesn't even budge. She growls furiously, and shakily she reaches up to slap her palm against the window. The loud bump interrupts the Scout. Narrowing the gaze he reaches over to his radio, turning down the volume. He leans up on his bed, his fingers pulling against his hair. Tracks slaps the window again, her hand sliding down slowly and out of sight.

"Shit," he curses under his breath before hopping up and stomping to the window. Forcefully he slams it open. "The hell are you frickin' doing?!" he yells at her hanging form. Her red eyes winced, the sun shining against her face. Tracks grits her teeth, her body heavier than she had expected.

"I'm sorry…" she blinks, her face cringing from the sodding heat. Scout snorts at her. "Buzz off, doll face. I'm listening to a game right now," he turns away, hand ready to slam the window shut. Suddenly her grip gives out, a yelp startling him. Scout throws himself out the window, his hand wrapping around her thin wrist. Her weight nearly makes him fall. The Scout screams, his hand grabbing onto his window before his feet plant against the edge. Pulling, he yanks her back in. The two fall back, her body landing upon his. Her should slams into his chest, knocking all of the wind out of his lungs. Scout gasps, his hands clasping over his eyes. "AUGH…shit, g-get off!" Tracks groans, her body rolling off of him and upon various cans. They crumple under her weight, poking at her sides.

"Shit—are you crazy or something?!" he barks at her before getting up. She looks up to him. "…I was wondering…if you would take me to," she trails off, her hand playing with her ponytail. Impatiently he snaps at her. "Spit it out, frickin' hell!" She winces, glaring.

"TAKE ME…to play…_baseball_.." she grunts, defeated. The Scout blinks, eyes wide as she blushed viciously. He shakes his head, his smug attitude starting to play. "Oh, I thought I was just some chump tryin' to screw with you."

"I get it! I'm an inconsiderate moron…" He raises his brow noticing her swollen eyes. Subtly she licks her lips before taking in a deep breath. "…I really want you to teach me how to play...baseball…_please_." The last worded seemed to have been a whisper. He crosses his arms before tilting his head to the side. "I thought you hated it."

She attempts to conceal her defeated state. With heated cheeks she grunts to the side, "I do…"

"…" Strangely enough he doubted that she was forcing herself to. Why else would she waste her time trying to get his attention? Even the Scout knew that getting stuff out of him was a bitch. Even if it was from a chick. Just kick her out—it was that easy. The chick handed his ass to him earlier and now she wanted to make amends. To him she must have been completely insane—either that or she was suffering from a wonderful case of premenstrual syndrome. Scout glances to the side as he contemplated. His tongue pushed between the spaces of his teeth, his shoulders tensing as the pressure continued. Did he really have to make a decision to this? "I tried helping you. Ya know? I did yesterday, but you slammed the fuckin' door in my face! But no matter where we are **your **ass seems to never leave me the fuck alone," he rants, though he earned no reply from her. She just seemed to have been sitting there taking the blame. That was something the Scout had to do for way too damn long; the look on her face said she never experienced it enough. An all too familiar pull tugs at his chest when she swivels her eyes to the picture by his bedside. Warily he glances too. The image of his mother had been monitoring the scene the entire time. The Scout looks to the ground-this was like back at home when he fought with his brothers. But back then he wouldn't apologize, he'd just kick them in the shin and run passed his mother's grasp. Hell, he'd be gone the whole night after that. The irony was killing him. So this was how it felt to be in his elder siblings shoes. The young man turns, swinging his arm to the side to swiftly grab his bat. Bending over, Tracks watches as he pulls out what appears to be a leather glove. Scout tucks it under his arm before giving her an irked glance. "…come on."

_Note: In case any of you have been wondering what the Sniper is saying..._

**_Shiela:_**_reference to a lady/sometimes used in terms of endearment_

_**Big Smoke: **__reference to big cities_

**_Bludger:_**_some who is lazy_

_Also, for those who may not read the TF2 comics by Valve, __**Smissmas **__is their interpretation of Christmas._


	13. The Running Strike

Hot, beading, stinging sweat rolled from her skin already. The two hadn't even begun to get active yet. Squinting her eyes she raises her thin palms and rubs away the salty liquid. Tracks bit down on her bottom lip as they closed in on what seemed to be a field. The ground here was firmer and packed. Solid white stones laid flat against the sand in four separate areas, building the shape of a diamond. Her feet drag, her eyes scanning the scenery. In general she found the spot boring. The Scout turns as they reached a tad off center of the diamond. He raises the bat, flipping it in the air and handing it to her. Reluctantly she grabs it, staring at the metal object. It seared in the sun. If it weren't for the wrapped handle she wouldn't have been able to hold it. Rolling her gaze up at him she stares bewildered.

"What?" he questions, tossing the ball up before catching it within his glove. "Batter up."

**_Chapter 12_**

**_The Running Strike_**

A huff of frustration blows from her dry lips, her bangs flapping up. She glares with her chocolate brown eyes, her cheeks turning red with embarrassment. Tracks watches as the Scout bends over and grabs a handful of the clayish sand, rubbing it within his chafed palms. Clapping his hands together he pulls himself back up. "You ready?" he asks her, his fingers rolling the ball along his palm. Tracks raises a brow. "…ready for what?"

Scout blinks before holding his arms open. "You're the batta—you swing."

She diverts her gaze to the metal bat that hung loosely on her grip. The man before her tapped his foot impatiently, but she hadn't dared to move. "…I don't know…how to," Tracks grunts to the side. Looking down she drags her foot along the home base. This was terrible—she felt like a complete idiot. A click caught her ear. The Scout flicked his tongue against the palate of his mouth, his eyes widening with shock. What did she just say? He raises his hand in disbelief, his finger pointing to her. "Whadda ya mean you don't know how to?"

"I-I don't know how to, I never batted! Can you…ya know. Show me how?" That tension came back. Even when he was feet after feet away she could still feel his burning gaze. Scratching against her belly she struggles to keep her usual calm face. Her eyes refused to keep still. Nothing seemed to have caught her attention. The Scout grunts under his breath. This was practically unbelievable for him. But she was shuffling in place. Scout's eyes widened—she really wasn't lying. "Frickin'…alright, alright. I'll show ya…" he grumbles, pulling his glove off before tossing the objects onto the ground forcefully. Dust flies through the air, drifting before settling back down. The Scout marches over, his back slightly hunched forward. The man reaches over to her.

"Hand it over."

"Alright," she blinks as he snatches it from her. Standing to her right the Scout positions himself. He looked as if he were ready to sprint. Though he held the same expression the Scout did this very naturally. His arms rose over his head, the bat firm in his grasp. For several seconds he kept that position before swinging it forward slowly. Tracks kept her eyes on his movements intently. "You move just like that," he tilts his head to her. For a moment she remains still but finally she nods. Scout blinks at her. "You got that?" he circles the bat in the air tauntingly. "Ya think you can hold it now?" Tracks rolls her eyes.

"Yes."

"You sure?" he teases, holding the bat high up from her before she could grab it. "Yes dammit—give it to me!" she blushes, the Scout chuckling as she yanks it from him. He tilts his head to the side, his arms raised defensively. "You try. Don't hurt yerself." The Tracker huffs before hesitantly positioning herself. She grips the bat, raising it into the air unsurely. The sound of a snort makes her twitch. "Is there a problem…?"

"Yeah—you're doin' it all wrong. Lemme help," he steps behind her. The Scout reaches down, his arms wrapping around her, his chest pressing onto her back. Oh god…what was that feeling she just had? Tracks holds her breath, a burning sensation spreading throughout her cheeks. Scout had said something, but she didn't quite hear it right. His breath tingles on the back of her neck, numbing her mind. Slowly the Scout arches her arms more to the left. With his foot he taps hers, sliding it to the side to spread her stance more apart. Then he swings their arms forward. Tracks could hear the soles of her shoes grind against the ground with his, her knees pointing outward. As they reach a full swing she lets go with her right hand, her left flinging the bat to the side slowly before finishing off the practice swing. Worry filled her as her legs shivered ever so slightly—were her legs really going to give out?! "Bonk," the Scout spoke, her lips parting as her breathing tangled and hitched. "You hit the ball, the crowd roars. That easy," he pulls away from her. A few seconds passed before she could even react. Tracks comes to, her body slowly straightening herself up. That was…strange. Rolling her eyes she conceals the flustered feeling that suddenly overcame her. "It better be," she grunts as he walks away. Watching, he finally reached the pitchers spot, bending over and grabbing the ball.

"You ready?" he calls to her. Positioning herself she nods, her hands squeezing against the youngster's bat. The sun glares in her eyes, agitating her. "Just…throw it already!"

"Alright…" he grunts, yanking his arm back and thrusting the ball. It flew as fast as a bullet. Tracks narrowed her eyes, ready. But when it drew closer she could feel her stomach pull. "AaaahhhhAAH!" she swings, yelping. The ball bounces off the ground behind her, her arms still swinging the bat back and force furiously. She does a full spin before losing balance. Landing on her bum she gasps, eyes wide and hair standing. An object rolls and bumps onto her thigh. Pulling her lips to the side she grabs the ball, her eyes glaring at it. "Hmph…why you little…"

"AHAHAHAH!" The Scout's loud string of laughter made her wince, her teeth gritting together. Tracks throws the ball at him, enraged. "You shut up!" With ease the Scout catches it, not even looking up once. "You're such a dip!" he slaps his knee, his chest feeling as if it were going to burst. Tracks taps her foot impatiently, her arms crossing. Time passed—twenty minutes later she hadn't really improved much. The Scout flares his nostrils.

"…here, throw the ball over. I got an idea," he twitches his fingers. The girl sat against the ground once again, her breaths panting. Swiftly she takes the round sphere and throws it to him. The Scout catches it, rubbing his chin in thought. "...every time you make a strike, you gotta tell me something about you." The Scout tosses the ball in the air and catches it, repeating the process. Tracks felt her shoulders hunch. The thought of that made her stomach bubble. "You're kidding…I've been gettin' strikes since we started this," she chuckles angrily. The Scout shrugs, his hand still tossing and catching.

"No say—no play. You wanna get better or not?"

Her cheeks puff out as she crosses her arms. "…fine. But watch—I'll get this next one. Then we'll see whose answering the questions and who ain't," she gives him a sly smirk. Dusting her hands off the Tracker prepares herself. Scout cocks his head.

"You get three strikes then it's the pro's turn."

"Whatever! Just throw the damn thing." Jaw clenching, arms aching—Tracks wasn't going to miss this. Something deep in her gut told her that she wasn't going to. Whether it was sheer luck or the fact that she really was getting better, she was going to hit it. The Scout slinks himself back, his body retracting like a rubber band. The ball spins, flying over to her. If her mind wasn't playing tricks on her then she'd say that the ball just curved. Regardless, Tracks aimed and swung. Time seemed to have slowed down, her heart skipping a beat and her lungs cringing. This was it! All she needed to do now was hear the…

"Strike one!" A light yelp escapes her lips as she stumbles and falls into the ground. A mouthful of distasteful sand and clay made her spine shiver. "Gaaah!" she gags, her tongue rolling out. The muscle was patched with a thick dirty paste. Another loud laugh makes her grunt. Sucking her tongue back in she spits out the foul substance. "Hmph…well that figures," her mumbles to herself before slowly getting up. Scout beats his fingers along the length of his arm proudly, that smug grin upon his face.

Tracks wiggles her jaw. Jerking her arms out she slings the dust off of her bare arms. "Well…ask away," she sighs, swinging the bat side to side. "Well, well, well what to ask…" The young man rubs his thumb against his chin, his teeth nibbling against his bottom lip teasingly. The blushing Tracks grinds her shoulders inward as she awaits for his interrogation.

"What's your real name?"

Her form slouches over. "I don't have one."

The Scout furrows his brows at her. "Bullshit." The girl stretches her arms out, her sore muscles pulling as she did so. "Nope. It's true. I got no name."

"How can you _not_ have a name?"

"By not having parents."

As she readies herself for another swing she notices his form remained still. Though she seemed earnest about this it was still hard to believe. "Did they die?" the question slipped out easily for him. For a moment he worried that it might have been a sensitive subject, but she replies by just as easily ask he asked.

"Nah. Maybe…they left me as a foster home when I was about a month old. At least that's what the files say." Unsatisfied he plucks out a plot hole in her small bit of information. "If you're from a foster home then you technically gotta have a name." Chattering her teeth together she taps the ground with the bat.

"I don't remember it. They didn't want me—Detroit's my parent, and it named me Tracker. So that's my name. Now pitch, unless you wanna know more dumb questions like my panty color."

_Say wha…? _A weird sensation tickled at his chest, and he subconsciously began to suck on his teeth. Once again the Scout pitches. It flew just as fast as the last ones did, but instead of taking a strange path it flew straight for her. Pressing her lips together she felt her heard skip a beat—does it hurt getting hit by a baseball? It probably did. A shit load. Jerking she swings the bat, missing the ball by just a hair. Once again her butt lands on the hard ground. An orange stain began to smudge on her brown pants—it was bound to be on her backside now. She fumes, face red. "Dammit!"

"Nice try, doll face. So, say you had a birthday cake. How many candles would it have, and on what day?"

She stumbles forward, her hands clasped over her bottom. "That's two questions you nimbrod…about 20."

"Whadda ya mean about? Don't tell me you don't know how old you frickin' are!"

"Fine then! I'm 20…" The Scout bounces his shoulders. He gotta admit, she was one weird chick. Catching the ball he readies and pitches once more. And just as he had expected she misses, her backside back on the ground. Somehow she managed to be facing away from him. Slapping his hand over his mouth he fought to hold in a laugh. Noticeably her body twitches. "I HEARD that!"

"Strike three—you're out!" he points his thumb over his shoulder tauntingly. Slowly she limps over, her heated cheeks smudged with clay. "Well? What's your question," she slams her palms to her hips before swinging the bat over her shoulder. Sliding the glove off he flicks the sweat that built up. "Who's the kid you talk to?" They exchange gear. Tracks slips the glove on with ease, his sweat hot and sticky against her palm. "I met him a couple years back when I was walkin' around the streets. The cops caught him _stealing_ so I helped him out."

"How?"

She smiles lightly to herself. "There were a couple of garbage bags sitting on a roof near the alley they were in. I climbed the wall and kicked it right on the copper's heads. Figures they started chasing me. Thought that was the last I saw of him, but it figures the next day he was robbin' some market stand I usually sit around. Smacked the kid right on the side of the head and told him to go back home. Was with him ever since." Taking his place she waits for him to go to home base. Scout does a nifty trick with the bat before going on with the conversation.

"Where did you live? I mean, seeing as to how you're an adult now. Foster homes only keep you 'til you're like, what, eighteen er somethin'?" Her eyes rolled up to him, her expression stern. "…it's _your_ turn," she raises her palm and shoos him off. Sneering he obliges, her fingers flicking at his face.

"Shit I was just wonderin', sheesh!" he spoke irritated. The Scout spits on the ground he stood on. Spinning on his heel he readies the bat. "You can **pitch**, right?"

"_You can pitch right?_" she mocks him, shooting her tongue out before throwing it chucking it. Much to his surprise it was a pretty decent throw. At least for her first shot it was. Swinging the bat he sends sit flying, her eyes wide as she stares after it. There was silence. "…dammit," she chases after it. It took her a good five minutes, but the Tracker was able to run back with it. Her lungs felt as if they were to burst at any given second. Wheezing she stops, hunching over to catch her breath. Snapping her head back up she growls at him. "You jerk! You could have at least hit it softer!"

With that cocky gaze he had been leaning against the bat as if it were a cane. Rubbing his nails against his shirt he gazes at him. "What can I say? I'm pretty big league! But, hey, what else do you expect from the teach?" Her bottom lip puckers out, her face dripping with sweat. Loudly she exhales before pointing at him. "How about this, you bat again. BUT this time, every time you hit the ball you have to say something about _yourself_."

He snorts, "What makes you think I'll hit it every time?" Picking her shirt she gives him a sly smile, her head cocking to the side playfully. "Because you're Big League—it'd be pretty sad seeing you lose to a beginner…" Now that got him good. Crinkling his nose he flicks his hand to the side.

"Fine! Geez. Pitch, doll face."

Pulling her lips up into a sideways smirk she tosses the ball, and sure enough he hits it _lightly_. It rolls along the ground, the ball pumping against her feet. Bending over she lifts it up. "Now, tell me something about yourself…_Big League._" A low grumbles escapes his throat, and she felt a giggle threaten to arise. The man cracks his neck, sighing. "I got seven brothers," he admits, his fingers tugging against his dog tags. Tracks blinks a bit in disbelief.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"…_Seven?_"

"Yes! I got seven brothers you happy? Shit!" She tugs at her lip, the ball rubbing against her jaw. "…whose the youngest?" For a small second she could have sworn to see his shoulders tense, but he had let out an egotistical chuckle. "C'mon doll face what does it matter? I'm the oldest." She snickers, bending over and mocking him. "You're the **runt**, ain't cha?" her head cocks to the side again, her form balancing on her heels playfully. The Scout grouches, his arms crossing over his chest. "Shaddap will ya! And keep pitching!"

The giggling dies out, and once again she pitches. The ball rolls towards her once again, and she picks it up. "Another hint, handsome."

"What's with all the nice complements, huh?" he wiggles his brows. Though she rolls her eyes to him a smile still tickled her lips. "I'm tryin' to be nice—now give me a fact or the ball's going in between your eyes." The Scout snivels at her, his bat swinging in the air.

"Fact number two: I think you're crazy." She grunts, her foot slamming against the ground. Quickly she throws the ball, aiming for his face. But the Scout grins as he swings and strikes the ball. It flies towards her. "Ahh!" Tracks stumbles back, catching it. As always her butt slams against the ground, her face squinting at the impact. Scout had threw his bat to the side and darted through the bases, the Tracker staring after him helplessly. "Wait! That's not fair you didn't say we were playing legit!" she scurries up after him. The pounding sensation in her legs grew with every step she made—she never ran this hard before. But the Scout took larger leaps and deeper breaths. Somehow she had to find a way to keep up with him. Why not cheat your way around? Rather than following behind like she always did, the Tracker cuts through the field. Shoving her hand forward she runs into him, the ball pressing against his narrow jawline. The Scout's grin disappears, his yelp muffled as they rolled along the ground. The Scout lands on his back, the Tracker sprawled above him. She giggles, her sides burning. Reaching up she holds the ball above his head. The Scout reacts, grabbing onto her wrists and pushing her away. Tracks snickers.

"Accept your fate. I won!"

"Hell no—I ain't out until you touch me with that!" Big mistake. Grinning she releases the ball, the leather object crashing right in between his eyes. The Scout was out. He bites down on his bottom lip, grinning and wincing at her dominant form. Pushing up he flips them over, the Tracker dumbfounded when he suddenly held her hands above her head. A shadow was casted over her restrained form, and she blinks confusedly. The laughter had died out instantly, her stomach twisted when he gives her that smug smirk. Though the sun shined against him his eyes still seemed to have shined the lightest of blues. Probably something he had inherited from his lovely mother. Either way he was very nice to peer at. Hell, if looks could kill Tracks just might have died.

"You're cheap," he pants, his knees on either side of her hips. Sheepishly she smiles at him. A line of sweat rolled from her chin down the length of her neck. The Scout follows it, the liquid pooling just near her collar bone. With flushed cheeks she rolled her eyes to the side, giving out a rather pathetic laugh. "Awe c'mon, I'm just screwin' around! Don't get all offended now," she squirms in his calloused grip. Once again she pressed her pink lips together, and the Scout couldn't help but like the pleasant pink that continued to grow on her light skin. Gulping, he suddenly started to feel uncomfortable. The hell was he thinking, staring at her like that?

"Yeah well, I won fair and square so…" he rolls his eyes to the side, an expecting look on his innocent face. Tracks raises a brow. "Okay, so? Did you want a prize or something?"

Scout shrugs. "Pfft, prize what prize who says I wanted a dumb prize?" The Scout releases her hands, and she rubs her sweaty wrists. Tracks continued to watch him as he fumbles off of her, his stance rather awkward. For a moment he looked as if he were trying to regain his cool. Giving his fist a subtle cough he lowers his hand to her. Reluctantly she takes it, and he pulls her up. "Yeah, well. That's how you play ball…your welcome," he mumbles. His entire demeanor had become hidden in a shell. She could feel her brow raise once again, her arms crossing over her chest.

"You okay?"

"What? Yeah! Fuck, why wouldn't I be?" he swings his bat over his shoulder. Tracks gives him a concerned look as he yanks his items from her grasp. With that the Scout turned and made his way back to the base. "…Scout?" Slowly he turns, his body stiff.

"What?"

"I kinda like baseball. Let's do this again tomorrow." His eyes widen at this.

"Ya mean like a date? I dun know, I got myself a busy schedule…" He stifles a laugh at her expression. "I'm not sure how dates work but whatever. Do you wanna or not?" Playing with the rim of his cap he thinks. "…you know what? Sure—why not! Consider yerself a lucky gal!" his voice boomed with confidence, an awkward smile appearing on his face. The woman shook her head, her hand patting his bat. A very light hum escapes her lips as she heads towards the base. Once she had reached a comfortable distance the Scout let out a huge breath. How long he had been holding it he wasn't sure. _Why _he was holding it in the first place seemed to be a better question. Flopping his hat to the side he stalks after her, sticking it back into his head over his eyes. Maybe this way he won't stare at her backside…

_Note: Alright. I'll bite. I've been getting a few messages from people asking me questions. _

_When are they getting together?_

_Do you write sequels?_

_Are you going to write other TF2 stories? _

_I'm just going to throw everythin' on the table, kay? I've been planning a __**series.**__ Series as in I've been making OC Bios and digging into the merciless, chaotic, insane plot of Team Fortress 2. And yes, I said __**Bios**__, which means several other stories. As in several stories introducing some __**other **__OCs. So yes, there will be stuff for a few of the other mercenaries, and yes these stories are all in the same universe. For example, if I did one for Sniper and OC, Tracker would be mentioned (doesn't mean she would legitimately be in it however). Everything I write is based on their comic series on the TF website-so no, I did __**not **__make up the Administrator or Miss Pauling, these people are Valve's fine originals. In order for you to fully enjoy my stories I insist you read them. They are amazing and truly funny. You end up appreciating TF2 much more._

_I'm hoping this message clarifies some of the questions that I've been getting. Generally I don't put author notes-I feel you readers don't care much for them. But these questions-they're pretty repetitive and I figured that I might as well add one. _

_-H.W._


	14. The Running Infatuation

As the week began to roll by Tracks and Scout found their time to play ball. What at first became a simple request turned into a natural routine; the two did this daily now. The men who made up the RED team had viewed the Tracker to be a very clever girl. Scout undoubtedly believed this, though he wouldn't admit to it verbally. It had only taken her little time since her arrival to successfully kill a man, and she took her first death messy yet surprisingly well. Yet it astounded the young man to see how _terrible _she was at a family sport such as baseball. When the Scout made a promise he would keep by it—so long as that promise was to himself that is. And the young man promised that he would be able to make her hit that ball and get a homerun whether she liked it or not. Hell, all of his brothers could do it and so could his mother. Why couldn't she? Time alone showed that she could do this, but it would take one hell of a while. Patience was something he had to adopt, but in the end it proved to be fun. They learned from each other using the little fact exchanging quirk the two devised. Favorite colors, favorite music, and other pointless information that the other had become known. A little too often he would hit the ball a little _too _hard and sent it flying, and other times he forced her to really work in order to get him out. Scout was a fast devil, and she had managed to become almost just as fast. Surprisingly their little game became somewhat of a training sequence for the two. Perhaps if it weren't for this factor the Scout would have given it up earlier in the week. But as the days progressed, and as the number of times they rammed into each other accumulated into a hefty number, the Scout started to feel _strange_.

As if he already hadn't—he had always felt strange about bonding with her. It was seemingly so impossible that even the Soldier was surprised by this. But no, it started to grow _stranger_. The little things she did were actions he was starting to become desperate to see. Sometimes when she spoke it was all a blur to him, and all he could see was her face looking at him. When she'd curse he'd respond back with something a little too flattering for his taste. In fact, the number of times he had called her _doll face _increased by a threatening amount. Then there was that **smile **she did. It wasn't rare, but nor was it often. When he'd make his smug statements or joke around she give him a little smile that was so small and so sweet. It was so entrancing that the Scout had caught himself smiling childishly at her turned form every time they finished the sport. It was disgraceful. Scout wouldn't spend a waking moment without reminding himself how much of a complete waste of his time she was. But hell…that smile was real precious.

After seven days wrung up he started to get real concerned. At some point, though he hadn't noticed, he started walking her to her room and accompanying her to meals and training. Though he wouldn't spend all of the time with her he somehow managed to latch onto her. Tracks mustn't have noticed, or else she would have cursed him out by now. But the two men of other origins did, and they teased him endlessly about it. It was to the point where the Scout loathed spotting the Spy and Sniper. But what really sucked was when he ran into the **both **of them at once—now that was a living hell. Usually his chill, devil-may-care demeanor would shield him from the troublesome factors around him. This time it wasn't. This time he found himself sitting on the side of his bed, shirtless, with legs spread open and face buried within his chafed palms. Like he did ever night for the past three months. Taking the advice from the men around him didn't help—anything that hinted on that the issue was like _that _they began to elbow bump him and wink shamelessly. It was sickening that the men assumed, and they didn't even _know _how right they were. Desperation overwhelmed him. His reputation was at hand now. Luckily for him he kept a nice roll of nickels and quarters in case he needed to call someone. The Scout pressed the cold metal piece into his ear, the receiving end hovering closely against his lips. Rolling his eyes around the Scout had made sure no one was at hearing distance, and then he began to speak into the payphone. It rung, and a smooth voice answered the phone. Scout took in a deep breath of cold crisp air before speaking.

"Hey ma…"

**_Chapter 13_**

**_The Running Infatuation_**

The boy bit his lip at the sound of his mother's lighthearted gasp. Though he called her often she still was delighted to hear.

_"Hey hon. How are you?"_

"I'm great. Listen, I-I gotta talk to you 'bout somethin'," he had leaned back into the hallway, peeking from the niche to see if the coast was clear. Not one soul seemed to be up and about when his mother sighed from the other line.

_"What did you do now…"_

"It's nothin' like that. I'm kinda needin' some of your…advice," he struggles to find the correct words. In all honest this was a shocker for her—the boy seemed to always know what he was doing. Confidence was a true gene that sprouted in each and every one of her eight children, but the Scout was the most boastful and undaunted of all. He could hear her finger tapping against the phone, her silence worrying him.

"…ma?"

_"What do you need help on, sweetie?"_

The Scout flares his narrow nostrils before he takes in a sharp breath. "You remember that…girl…I told you about that works with me?"

_"Mmhmmm."_

Nervously he bit onto the inside of his lip, his eyes darting down to gaze at the floor with self-pity. "I…I think I like her." **Like**. That was a childish way of putting it. He fumes at himself—he couldn't even remember the last time he was spellbound by some chick. Working in the TF Industries all of these years the only lady he came across was Miss Pauling, and even then the kind of _hots _he had for here wasn't like this. His mother seemed to have fallen silent again. Usually when the Scout calls her he would boast on about how much Miss Pauling was dying to date him but that they never did. In all honesty all of the times he spoke about a girl he did so with such dauntlessness in his wording. But now he sounded meek and hush, his voice stuttering and his words carefully picked. For once the Scout wasn't ranting, and now for once his mother might have had to believe him.

_"…as in like, like?"_

The Scout rolls his eyes. "Yes, mom. I **like **the chick." The boy could only imagine the look on her face; a mix of surprise and excitement, followed by her fingers clasped over her arrowed lips to suppress a lighthearted laugh. It made his cheeks turn pink, his free hand shoving into his pants pockets. This was worse than anything he's ever felt. _"How much do you like her?"_

The Scout blinks. He hadn't thought of an answer for that question yet. Licking his dry lips he rubs his chest intently. "Ahh…I-I don't know."

_"What do you mean you don't know? Stop being such a baby and tell me I won't go and tell your brothers. It'll be out little secret!"_

With a flushed face he jerks his arm out defensively. "I don' know, ma! I just frickin' like her. I try goin' about my damn business and all the sudden I'll just start thinking about her! The sometimes she'll bump into me and my stomach feels like I wanna frickin' hurl. Oh, and sometimes she'll smile, b-but it ain't like your average smile **no **it's like she's frickin' **taunting **me with it and it makes me wanna grab her and…and…" The Scout's eyes widen.

Oops, he didn't mean to say that much. "…a-and spill my guts out," he bites his nails as he thought of a way to conceal his original thought. A small snicker played in his ear, and the Scout narrows his eyes. How she knew how to trick him he'll never know. Either way she was a witch for doing it. Poking at his chest he lets out a shaky sigh. "C'mon mom. I don't know what to do about it. It's killin' me, how do I get rid of it…" Another laugh, this time it made him wince.

_"You can't __**unlike **__someone, hon! Tell me about her, is she pretty?"_

Scout blushes. "W-What?!"

_"I bet she's gorgeous. You've always had a good taste in girls."_

"M-Ma! Shut up! Just tell me how to fix this! I don't want to like her, okay!? I'm trying to keep myself from it!" His dedication to get his answer was enough to make her laugh again. Clasping his bandaged palm over his face he dragged it downward. _"Oh, you're reminding me of when I was your age. Always fighting. Anyway, I gotta go. Call me back soon," _her words chimed teasingly. The Scout stutters, his face completely flustered. "W-Wait, mom!" But it was too late. The click rang in his ears before the long and dry tone rung its long and stretched note. His mother had hung up on him. Deep in his stomach he could feel that twisting, wretched feeling again. His mom didn't help him—he really _was _alone here.

"You alright, mate?"

The Scout jumps, his hands desperately trying to grasp along the plastic phone. Sniper stood by him, his hands dug within his coat's pockets. Not far off the Medic stood near him, his arms crossed behind his back properly. Frantically the youngster slams the phone back into its rightful place, his hands fumbling against his chest before shoving into his own pockets. The Scout pulls up a quick façade, his eyes playing a sanguine look as he cocks his hips out carelessly. "Yeah, why you buttin' in my business Kangaroo Jack?"

The Sniper didn't seem all too pleased by this answer, his eyebrow arching up. "…was that yer mum on the phone?" The boy stared, a look of subtly panic in his eyes before he nods. "What? Yeah, so what I call my mom? Jus' tryin' to be a responsible kid heheh," he laughs awkwardly, his feet kicking to the side carelessly. Sniper simply stared, his teeth sucking against his bottom lip as gives the German a quick glance. Medic gave him a strange grin, a small tint of wickedness playing on the corners of his mouth. "Ist there something ve should know, Herr Scout?" The two watched as the young man inched backward at a moderate speed, his shoulders arching back proudly. He shakes his head, sweat beading on the rim of his cap. "Wha? No! Nothin' really, jus' the usual. I'm gonna go get ready for the battle later if anyone needs me." With that he turns, stalking away rather quickly. The two men didn't even care to look at one another.

"You heard their conversation too, right?"

"Ja. Every word."

"Thought so. Aight…I'm off ta go tell Spoi," he pats the man's back before walking off.

Within hours loud explosions and zooming gunfire blaze the deserted land around them. Soldier had been running into the chaos with his launcher in hand, the Pyro nearby. "MOVE, PRIVATES! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!"

"Mmmrph mmph!"

"…one o'clock, right next to the Pyro."

A cracking roar thunders through the air and slices the wind in half before burring itself within the BLU Engineer. The Sniper grunts. "Got it, Shiela." Near him the Tracker nods, humming lightly next to him. Her fingers tapped lightly along her shin guards, and she produced an even rhythm that the Sniper couldn't help but tap his foot along to. Taking a small moment he pulls his arm back to scratch his chiseled jaw. "How you holdin' up?" he asks her, and she gives him a light chuckle.

"Good—I like bein' up here with you Snipes." The man smiled at this. Before when the Spy and she had fought he could have sworn she was sick of looking at him. Some people could say he was going soft. He wasn't sure about that, but he couldn't help but grow on the girl. It was a company he enjoyed, and that was considered rare company. Rubbing his nose he lets in a snort. In all honesty he didn't want her caged up there, but she hadn't been desperate to go down in the main fight for a week now. At first he didn't understand why, but then he had realized what had been keeping her rather optimistic.

"…I ain't earbashin' you am I?" he questions her before wrapping his finger around the trigger again. Tracks gazes at him, her eyebrow raised. "You? Nah, I like it when we talk. It's boring when it's too quiet." He shook his head, humming at her statement. Sucking on his tooth he produces a small click with his tongue before speaking again. "How are you an' the bloke?"

"Spy?" The man chuckles. "You know who I'm talkin' about," his voice chimed rather teasingly. Tracks's shyness kicks in, her stomach twisting. Did he really mean who she thought he meant? Gulping the tightness in her throat down she lets out a shocked cough. "We're fine," her eyes darted around the warzone anxiously. Another long and airy chuckle made her spine tingle. Tracks snaps a glare to him, and surprisingly enough he had turned to her. "Tell me the truth, Shiela."

The girl presses her lips together, her shoulders squeezing inward with irritation. Why did they have to talk about this now? Here? The girl bangs her fingers against her shin guards louder, her panic evident. "Truth? What truth? We're getting along, that's it really…" Silence filled the air, but then a laugh so loud made her jump. The Sniper jerks his body back, his head arching. If he hadn't been holding his own hat it would have flopped off. Tracks gave him a stern look the entire time, her face blushing. "…what?"

"Ahhh…you're cute Shiela." He watches as she snaps to face him now, the two completely ignoring the fight below now. "What are you going on about?!"

Sniper raises a brow. "Well, you an' the Scout." Now that got to her. Visibly her hair stood, her nose cringing. The man simply leans forward, his hand still firmly holding his gun towards the window. "No drama, Shiela. Everybody knows."

"W-Wait, they know?!" she yelps. That was impossible—how would they know stuff like that? SHE didn't even know! The Sniper freezes, his glasses sliding down his nose. Firmly she pushes them back up. "You two didn't have a naughty, did you?" he questions her in disbelief. An explosion of red spreads over her nose and down her neck. Tracks shook her head furiously. "What?! No!"

"Easy there, Shiela. You're both adults I won't skin you alive if you did," he raised his free are reassuringly. For some reason this was a comfortable subject for him. But Tracks never spoke of such a subject ever in her life with anyone, not even herself. Furiously she tugs in her hair. "But Snipes, we didn't do **anything**!" Her eyes roll down to the ground, her muscles relaxing. "It's just…I think I'm starting to-" Suddenly the window between them crashes, the glass showering over them. Tracks guards her face with her arms, her eyes wide shock. Sniper jerks back and lands upon the ground, sliding back until his head hits the wall. The man grits his teeth. "They saw us, Shiela! We're movin'," he calls to her before pulling the floor door open. He slides his rifle back into its holster before climbing down. "C'mon, hurry up!" The two climbed down the length of the ladder, their feet and hands moving in unison. Lucky for the Sniper the girl was good at scaling. Occasional bullets zoom past them. One skids along her side, ripping her jacket and tearing through her shirt. It skids along her skin, leaving a burning mark. She winces, her hands nearly slipping. The Sniper gazes up at her before allowing himself to drop the rest of the way. "You okay Shiela?!"

"Yeah…I fuckin' got shot. I think," she sneers through clenched teeth. The man opens his arms up. "I'll catch you!" Unlike many people she had come across the Tracker was able to trust the Sniper. Without thinking anything of it she releases the ladder. Swiftly he snatches her from the air before placing her back down. The young woman grits her teeth, her hand pressed over the searing wound. Drawing her palm back she notices the blood that coats it. Sniper narrows his gaze, but a bullet bounces from the wall near their heads. He curses, covering her form with his. "Move!" The two sprint off to the nearest cover. Dirt and sand flew through the air—screaming and yelling tore in their ears. Mercilessly the BLUs mowed down their desired path. Tracks gasps, her body sliding. Sniper dives to the side, his hand grabbing onto her wrist and yanking her into the alley. She yelps at the force, her body rolling like a ball down the length of the small opening. Her back slams against the wooden building firmly, her legs sprawled in the air as her neck arched in the most uncomfortable way. Her body slowly slinks within itself, her lungs crushed by her own weight. "You alright, mate?" she hears the Sniper.

"No…" she stirs, rolling to the side and standing. The woman sways, her head shaking furiously to regain her composure. Another flurry of bullets embeds into the ground, the Sniper's eyes widening. A booming voice bounced from the walls and filled the air with an intimidating sensation. The BLU Heavy was trying to corner them, his gun whirling and ready to fire once again. The Australian stumbles back, his small machinegun proving to be a pathetic form of protection. "Tracks! Run!"

"But Snipes-"

"Ferget about me and-" his voice cuts off. Metal pieces smooth as glass pierce through his back and out of his chest. A gurgling of pain pulls from his throat, and the man slowly falls to his knees. The man's blood splatters against the ground, the slapping sound twisting her stomach. Tracks cringed, her eyes wide with horror at the sight. With eyes rolling up he falls to the ground lifeless. "Oh...**shit**." That was her cue to bolt.

The woman turns on her heels, her feet moving faster than ever in her entire existence. After her surgery with the Medic she never really tested her full capacity until now—and hell, did it feel great. Whatever that crazed man did she had to give him a huge hug. Turning the sharp corners proved to be difficult for her still. All of the time she was with the Sniper, and if he ever died she'd wait for him to respawn. But now she had no safe haven—she smack dab in the war. Using her own weight she pushes against the corners and buildings to aid her in her turns. Successfully skidding along the ground she comes to a stop, her chest bouncing with every pant she made. Far off in the distance were a few REDs and BLUs, battling on a blood coated arena. The girl bites her lip—what was she going to do exactly? A crisp rustling stuns her. The crisp sound was suspicious. Narrowing her eyes she slowly turns her head to gaze over her shoulder. Twisting her torso she slightly turns to gaze behind her. Nothing was there.

"…" The deafening battle behind her made her want to turn back around, but something didn't feel right. The ground should have been uneven from her previous sprint, but parts of it were flattened back into shape now. Reaching to her hip she pulls out her binoculars, holding it before her eyes. The zoom was off, so it was like gazing through strange glasses. Her finger pokes the infrared vision. Within a blue and green background stood a red and white figure. Tracks stutters, her feet stumbling back. The form slowly became visible. A translucent cloud of smoke hazes the air as he came out from his camouflage. The BLU Spy sneers at her, his butterfly knife armed and ready. Viciously he swings it with acute precision. Tracks produces an angry yelp as she attempts to dodge. He had managed to cut a deep slit into her chest, her neck tensing as the painful sting overwhelmed her. With a heaving chest she dodges his attack again. "You don't hit a lady!" she spins, her guarded legs slamming into his side. The hit was sure to crack his rib or two but it didn't faze him as much as she had hoped for. Slowly he snaps his head up at her, his hand flicking his knife back into its deadly form. Sweat rolls from her chin, stinging her new wound. She winces, an awkward laugh erupting from her retreating form.

Generally she'd prefer taking on a big bad BLU in hand to hand combat, but retreating _was_ her profession after all. Besides, the BLU Spy scared her just as much as the RED one. Her face was priceless—wide eyed and panicking, her mouth gawking open and her bangs sticking to her dirtied face. A scream of terror erupts from her throat as she maneuvers through the various men. She earns some bewildered stares as she leaps up and grabs onto the overhang of a building. Pulling herself up she rolls away, the BLU Spy glaring after her.

"Ahh…I'm safe…I'm safe…I'm safe…ahhhhh…ahh…" her gasps for air were loud and rough. Raising her hand she rubs her eyes, her finger tapping against the cut. She winces, blood smothering her fingertips. Rubbing the texture she could smell the coppery aroma from it. Her nose snorts—it was a distasteful smell when it was her own.

"FUCK!"

Her body jerks up, her eyes scanning the area. That sounded like the Scout. Crawling on all fours she peaks over the edge of the roof. Down below the Scout rolled out of the way, the BLU Pyro swinging his axe downward and missing by just a hair. Scout had been bouncing on his feet attentively, but his face looked completely horrified. Tracks couldn't blame him—the man was one hell of a scare. The giant slab of metal managed to slice the boy's shoulder. The loud crack of his body hitting a support beam made the woman practically gag. His body slumps down, hand grabbing onto the wound. The BLU Pyro raises his precious weapon, the Scout laid out like firewood. "Shit," Tracks curses, standing to her feet.

"W-Wait, big guy! I didn't mean to say that about your mom—if you even have one. C-Can't we talk about this?" The Scout earned no response from the man, his arms swinging down. But suddenly the man's muffled grunts arise, and legs wrap around his neck. Taking a grip on the axe she pulls it above his head, expecting him to let go. But he hadn't, instead they fought for the weapon as she balanced herself upon his shoulders. "AAHHHH, WHAT AM I DOING?!" she hysterically pulls the axe for dear life, her legs gripping tighter when she began to slump back. The BLU Pyro chokes and gags under his mask. Scout blinks, his lips parted. He didn't know how to feel about the sight before him. Another unnerving string of curses escapes the Tracker's lips. "S-SCOUT!" Reaching over he clutches onto hit scattershot, aiming for the man and shooting him straight in the gut. The pyromaniac makes a discomforting noise before finally bending over and flipping Tracks off. She rolls along the ground, her body crashing into the Scout. Terror-stricken, she gazes up at the perplexed boy. "…hi," was all she could muster up. He presses his lips together, irritated and flabbergasted by her actions. But her hand grabs onto his wrist, and she pulls him after her. "C'mon," she pulls out her binoculars. They run into a clearing, the Scout jerking his head around.

"Where are they!?" he snarls, hands griping onto his shotgun. Using her piece of technology she scans the area. A heated figure was picked up sneaking along the roofs. No doubt it was the BLU Spy. She lowers her binoculars, pouting. "…right, c'mon. It's dangerous over there."

"Wait, what?" he gives her an untrusted stare. Once again she drags him down to a random direction. The youngster despised not knowing what was going on. His patience was reached and he yanks his arm free from her grasp. They spin to face one another. "Where the fuck are you leading us?!" he gnarls. Biting her lips she lets out a sigh—this was not the time to be quarreling. A stray rocket bursts nearby, the two protecting their heads from the scrap metal and wooden chips that flew by. The Scout mutters a curse under his breath, his temple reaching a boiling point. But once his blue eyes opened again he notices the Tracker climbing the side of the building quickly, her eyes wide with fear. "W-Wait…fuck!" The boy jumps forward, his strong grip allowing him to scale after her. Pulling himself up he sprint after her. In no time he was charging alongside her. "You fuckin' ditched me!"

Tracks fulminates. "You didn't want my help!" she accuses him. The two exchanged a heated glare, but a loud force shoves him into her. They scream in unison, smoke emanating from the chair flesh on his skin. The boy groans, his arms shivering with pain. With flared nostrils he tugs at the stray piece of metal piercing into his bicep. The boy fumbles, his fingers too large to yank it out. "Fuck…" Suddenly smaller fingers manage to grip onto the tip, yanking it out swiftly. The Scout yelps, his arm retracting back. Tracks stares at him, slightly guilty. "What? I helped you," she tosses it to the side.

"I KNOW YOU'RE UP THERE, MAGGOTS!" The two runners glace towards the edge of the roof. The BLU Soldier equips one of his grenades, pulling the pin clean off. "I'M GOING TO FINISH WHAT I SHOULD HAVE ONE WEEK AGO!" With a strong throw the grenades comes flying towards their location at full speed. The Scout had prepared to flee, but Tracks pulls him down. "The hell?! We gotta bolt!"

"Baseball."

He gives her an irked look. "What?!" Suddenly she shoves his own bat into his chest. He fumbles, grabbing it. She gives him a serious look. "**Baseball**!" It took him a minute to realize what she had meant. Biting his lip he gives her a sharp nod before jumping up. Naturally he takes a stance, his bat raised over his head. The grenade closes in, and just as it reaches a certain point the Scout swings. The BLU Soldier's grin disappears, his helmet sliding up as he tilts his head back. The grenade came flying back. Scout spins, grabbing her shoulder. "GET DOWN!"

The grenade explodes half way. The two run for the edge, the Scout quick enough to grab onto the edge. Tracks grabs onto his shoulders, her body pressing against his back as debris and scrape metal. Sweat rolls from his jawline as her thin arms cling around his neck, his wrists shivering from the extra weight. Slowly the Scout gazes over his shoulder. Her eyes were big and filled with dreadful exhaustion. He clenches his jaw.

"You're frickin' crazy," he pants. She stares blandly before giving him a pathetic grin. The girl lets out an exasperated laugh before pressing her face into the crook of his neck, her body going limp as she held onto him for dear life. Originally she was going to swing off of him onto the very same ledge he was holding onto, but a strange moment overcame her. Why not take the opportunity? Mentally cursing herself she squeezes her eyes shut, her body soaking in the way his body felt. This was her first time being close to Scout and she seemingly enjoyed it. Though, she'd never admit to herself she did. Perverted—she felt like a complete nut doing this. But the temptation was too strong. If she had a crush before then maybe it wouldn't have been. Her heart beats beneath her chest, the small pounds bumping against his aching back. Deep in his chest his heart cringed, her breath tickling his neck. For that very reason he struggled to take in a full breath, his arms shaking. He lets out a nervous laugh, his body tensing. He shot a glance at the ground—they were damn high up. The young man manages to gulp down a wad of saliva, his throat exceedingly tight. That subject he brought up to his mother bothered him to the bone. Something inside of him wanted to bring it up. "…Tracks?"

"Hmmm…?" her grunt was muffled against his neck. Her words vibrated into his shoulder, tickling his tense muscles. Oh…the sensation was _good_—it was killer. He was willing to nudge her just to make her groan into his neck again. Hell, maybe if he cursed her out she'd bite him like before. A tingling feeling grew in the pit of his stomach, threatening to spread outward. He shakes his head in an attempt to clear his mind. Shit—what was he thinking?! And here of all places! His pearly whites tug against his bottom lip, his mind struggling to find a new subject. "…w-were kinda stuck." The feeling of her tense made his heart slow down some—maybe then they could get out of this situation. Wetness engulfed his back. Her chest had been bleeding against him, and he was grateful how it brought him some discomfort. Such a wonderful distraction to clear his mind. The sooner she'd let go of him the sooner that feeling would dull down. But suddenly she squeezes her grip. "Ahh…well at least you're comfortable," she laughs halfheartedly.

Now that made his mind haze.

_Ahhhhh fuck! _Scout releases his grip, stunned. He just couldn't concentrate anymore. A frantic screech tears from her lungs. "AAH?!" Together they plummet to the ground.


	15. The Running Spark

"OW...OW OW OW OW OW OW…"

"Oh, don't be such a baby Fraulein." With blood coated fingers the Medic pinches her red cheeks. The young woman winces, one of her eyes squeezing shut as the other glares. Her right arm had been curled inward—glass, wood, and metal pieces embedded in various spots throughout her fair skin. Once again he gives her a glance, allowing her to take in a deep breath before slowly stretching out her arm. She clenches her jaw.

"OW!"

He loosens his grip, his hands turns her arm this way and that. "Ahh. Hyperextension. Not a fun thing this is no doubt," his voice chimed gleefully. It was obvious that this was of no concern for him. Medic had begun to reach for the contraption overhead, the red rays spiraling out of it. "This vill heal you in no time." She lets out a long sigh.

"Is this necessary Doc? I mean it's just a pulled muscle aside from all the damn splinters of course! Ow…" her chuckle ceases, a hiss of pain seething through her lips as she plucks out a piece of metal from her shoulder. Earning a chuckle she winces when he pats her back firmly, the pain surging through her entire body. The Medic continues to observe her swollen shoulder. "Vell, you had quite a nasty—thirteen feet and the veight of you and Herr Scout in one shoulder have managed to put a crack into your bones. Usually I vould let this slide vith the other mercenaries but seeing as to how you are still so prone to more at this state I vill have to deny your request," he casually yanks out a piece of glass. Tracks yelps, the man giving her a sheepish chuckle.

"Es tut mir leid, my dear Tracker. Now hold still, this von't take long liebling."

**_Chapter 14_**

**_The Running Spark_**

Never was the Medic wrong. As always he took his time before fully tending her. Before when she had first experience his outstanding creation something overwhelming happened to her. The Heavy described to her as _overhealing_. Generally this was a good thing; she'd last longer in battle to the point where gun shots were like splinters. But the feeling made her heart race and her skin go on fire. The heat and burning from it wasn't painful, however, but pleasant. No, more than pleasant.

It was a complete and utter rush.

The addictive sensation made the woman run for hours. Even when the effects subsided in mere minutes it still had some left over in her system. She couldn't sit down for most of the day. The woman didn't want to have so much of this. It was like an enormous dose of morphine and espresso. So rather than having the Medic tend to her every injury she would deal with a few. A little cut here, a little tear there—it all really didn't bother her. But in cases like this the Medic just had to force her to take the healing rays. They were something that she love/hated. Either way, it was thoughtful of him to abide some of her wishes. "See you at dinner, liebling."

That was something he called her at times. _Liebling _was much like the Spy's way of saying _mon petit_, and similar to the Demoman's _wee lass _or the Sniper's _Shiela. _The Tracker shook her head, her mind stirring. It had taken her about two months to even keep up with them all. It was ironic how she had to become accustom to nicknames, when in actually her name **was **one. In truth she didn't mind, in fact it was rather flattering.

"Hey, doll face."

And there was another one—_doll face_. This was the Scout's little cognomen for her. Whether it was for insulting reasons or just because he was plain too lazy to use her real one she wasn't sure. In the end it proved to be a pain to get used to. The Tracker peers over her shoulder, the Scout stalking after her. "How's the shoulder?" he grinned, giving it a hard smack. A loud grunt escapes her lips as her shoulders hunch downward. "Oh, fine. Even though you sent us down a long ways for **no **apparent reason or warning, its fine," sarcasm drips from her sentence as she firmly rubs the now stinging area. A red mark began to form over the sensitive spot. Scout clicks his tongue, nodding his head.

"Yeah—I thought you could take it but I guess I was wrong huh?" Tracks growls, her fist slamming against his chest. Scout lets out a laugh, his hands failing to guard from her string of punches. "Shit, I'm just screwin' around!"

"That's why I'm hitting you, you dip!" He snickers as she grabs a handful of his sleeve before shoving him to the side lightly. "Outta the way will you?! Geez you're always blocking the hallways." Silence fell—Tracks had been very sure that she was left alone, but a sharp hip bumps against her lightly. She stumbles a tad, her eyes narrowing into heated slits. The Scout strolled besides her now, his hands in his pockets. "Nag, nag, nag. I don' know about you but I'm hungry. Wanna go get some grub?" he turns to look at her. Blinking, she couldn't help but feel slightly surprised.

"You're oddly cheery," she crosses her arms as they continued their way down. The young man besides her twiddled his fingers within the pockets. "Ehh?" he grunts. "Well, yeah I'm stoked. We won! Before you showed up I had them all on the bat—swingin' the BLUs down like the sucker heads they are!" he swings his arm, his lips pulled up gleefully. But her expression hadn't changed, a teasing grin matched up with suspicious eyes. The Scout chatters his teeth in thought. "...but yeah, without you I woulda been dead…" Slapping his tongue over his teeth he gives out a slight cough. It took him so time to properly clear his throat. Tracks smirks at him before shaking her head. "I'm amazed you noticed my purpose out there. But thanks anyway," her thin fingers flick along his jawline. The Scout shivers from her touch, and she continues to walk towards the mess hall. Raising his hand he presses bandaged wrists along his jaw. That tingling was still there, pricking at his aching skin. Snorting his nose he grumbles under his breath, following after her.

"TAVISH FINNEGAN DEGROOT, YOU GET YER ARSE YOU THERE AND FIND YERSELF A JOB! That's wot me devil of a mum always told me! An' the bes' part—I didn' find one until after the woman gave up on askin'!" A long, scruffy laugh explodes from the Demoman's mouth, his large palm slapping against the table. The Heavy follows after, his booming voice just as overwhelming. Tracks sat before them, her lips pulled into a sideways smile. It was interesting to hear about their private affairs; their personal lives. Much of it seemed very average and normal, aside from the climax where their lives took a sharp turn for the _better_. At least they considered it the better. With a long sigh the Scottish demolitions expert fingers his whiskey box, his lips pressing against the top firmly. He would have taken a wiz, but his one eye spots Tracks spinning her finger within her drink awfully dull. A curious hum vibrated in his chest as he lowers his bottle. The Heavy's eyes widen—this was rare for the man to do. Demo leans forward, his arm holding up his weight. Sucking his tongue he gives a gesture to the young lady. "You look troubled, lass." Tracks darts her attention up, his nostrils flaring slightly. "You could use a drink."

She flushes, fingers digging into her lovely brown locks. "I'm good," she chuckles, her lips pressing together. The cool touch of the water brought her a wave of comfort, her fingers rubbing against the ceramic softly. That was an unsatisfactory answer. The Scottish man glances to Heavy. The larger man simply shrugs, his lips pouting out. Demo returns his gaze to her, a smile appearing. A loud bang forced Tracks to jump in her seat. Water splashes when she backhands her cup from the table. It flies through the air, slapping both the Pyro and Soldier across the face on the separate table. The match that Pyro had been fondling with unlit, his body becoming frozen.

"…"

"What is this?! RAIN?!" Soldier gazed upon his hands furiously. Tracks fumbles with her glass, her hand concealing her face. Lucky for her the Soldier wasn't all too bright, and he had stood to accuse the tabling seating the Spy and Engineer. A sigh of relief blows from her lungs. Demo had placed a bottle of Red Shed before her, his thumb skillfully plucking the metal top straight off. She stares dully. "Drink up, lass! Ye need it!" The air around her arms had become cold from the freezing glass. She watched as water rolled along its surface, pooling against the brim and collecting. Looking up she gives the Demoman a tired gaze. "I'm fine Demo, really."

A snort of disapproval escapes his nose. Once again he raises his finger to her. "Ye…ye have that look in yer eyes." Slowly she raises a brow—what look did he mean exactly? Heavy pats against his chest, his head nodding with the Scotsman's words. "Da. Lost look, like you have been thinking…too much," he looked like he had difficulty collecting the right words. Her eyes turn big. Thinking too much?

Oh my. That sounded awful.

Wrapping her fingers around the neck of the bottle she reluctantly takes a swig. "…HNG?!" The texture was slightly thicker than water; the taste was foreign and vile. Bitterness tingled in her throat, and she could feel the cold liquid stream down her throat like fire. Chucking her head to the side she spits it out, the contents sprinkling towards the Soldier. For a moment his helmet angles back, his wide eyes glaring to her direction. Once again she hides behind her palm. "You really are trying my patience, cadet!" A stifled snicker escapes her pressed lips as the two men near her snicker mockingly. Once again her smile softens and her eyes became lost in thought. Of course she was thinking about _that_, but she couldn't tell them. It was childish—**girly**. The thought alone made her shudder, the men watching as she began to tense. In all honesty she would rather discuss it with the Sniper or Spy, but even then it would be awkward to pull them aside and spill her thoughts out. Poking at her cheek she continues to listen to the men.

"Tracka, ye know wot I do when I find meself in a shit 'ole?" She looks up at him, interest shining in her brown eyes. Demo grins as he speaks with his arms. "I go out an' I LIVE ME LIFE! I have three high payin' jobs, me mum, and a MANSION! Why in the bloody hell do I have te spend me time tryin' te deal with personal problems when I ain' blowin' them BLU bastards ta bits?! If I do I end up like a tickin time bomb and then KABLOIE…I'm back at the drawin' board," his ending words were mixed with nostalgic chuckles. Drinking his aged whiskey he sucks the taste from his tongue. "Ye face whatever troubles ye, lass. Take it from good ol' DeGroot. It's what me mum that told me, an' it always worked—fight the fear, that or get **anotha** job!"

Get another job? That wasn't entirely what she had in mind. But surly his words could relate to her. _Fear _wasn't necessarily how she felt. No, it was more of anxiety and impatience. Yes—_impatience _was a good word. And unfortunately she knew what for. Her mind craved for something to happen. That moment which seemingly made all romance novels and drama films incredibly corny.

That _spark_.

Yet she didn't feel very obliged to act upon her temptation. But, then again, the Sniper and Spy told her stories. These stories were of the _boy _and how stubborn he was. Usually that would be considered a turn off to her. And then it hit her—that glance he did. The way he nipped his lip in frustration or thought, and the way his shoulders squeezed inward when he let out that **obnoxious **laugh. Tracks blinks—damn, he WAS obnoxious. What was she thinking feeling this way for him?!

"Uuuuuugh," a low groan escapes a little more loudly than expected. With heavy eyes she raises the bottle to down its contents once again. His face—it was imprinted within her mind like the most pleasant curse. Damn, she really needed this drink. At this point the burning didn't even matter to her. Anything to get him out of her damn mind; she'd do anything! Demo and Heavy raised their brows, their eyes filled with an even mixture of bewilderment and concern. Slamming the bottle down she gives out a gagging belch, her eyes visibly twitching within their sockets. It wasn't long before the men surrounding her understood how serious she was starting to get. Sniper tilts his hat up, his gaze darting towards the aware Spy. His lips pulled inward before he motions his chin towards the door. The Frenchman narrowed his gaze—he knew what the Aussie had in mind.

A pounding echoed in the halls. Scout laid upon the ground, his bottom pressed firmly against the wall as his legs held themselves up. Casually he threw the baseball towards the wall, the leather form pounding against it before bouncing back towards him. With one skilled motion he caught it. This was peaceful for him. No REDs to bother him, no BLUs to kill, and no TRACKER to send his mind on the fritz. It was so perfect that his eyes were closed—Scout needn't watch what he was doing in order to perform the act correctly. Each toss was the same as the last, his breathing timed with the bumps vibrating on the walls. Rubbing his teeth against his lips he could feel his body sink lower into the ground. Muscles began to relax and his thoughts started to drift. Baseball and hot chicks no doubt. The taste of cherry bonk tickled in his tongue, his teeth nipping against the tip of the muscle gently.

_You know…I've always wanted to know how bonk tasted Scout…_

"Then why don't ya come over and let me give you an idea…"

_Oh, I was hoping you'd say that. _The youngster bit his lip in anticipation at the thought. If he weren't imagining he could have sworn he felt a sudden weight press against his hips. It was as if someone mounted him.

_No tongue._

"But how would you get a good taste?" he tosses the ball to the wall, but his ears twitch when there was no sound of impact.

"Come again?"

The Scout's eyes open, his pupils shrinking into mere dots at the sight of the Spy standing near him. Smoke rose from his cigarette menacingly, the baseball safely within his gloved grasp. Cringing his nose he jerks up. "Whadda you want?" the younger boy questions him. Spy seemed unfazed by the Scout's cold shoulder. Raising his free hand up he retrieves his cig.

"Strange words you were speaking—not to yourself I presume," he tosses the ball to him. Scout catches it, his grip so tight that it made a light squeak. Scout snorts, "If you hadn't noticed I'm the only one here."

"That isn't what I mean, _jeune_. There is someone with you in that young mind of yours." A slight smirk appears on the Spy's face as the Scout flushes. "S-Shut up! Yer some suck pervert, you know that right? I was jus' talkin' to myself. Thinking up a new game plan, got it?" he gives the older man a sly grin before pushing himself up. For a moment the Spy only stared. Discomfort streamed through the Scout's veins and his stomach began to quiver. Though he tried to fight it he couldn't help but glare to the side shamefully. "You know…" the Scout looks up as the Spy began to speak. With his usual proper demeanor he began to stride away. Spy glances over his shoulder to him.

"She likes _you_ too."

A pressure squeezed at his heart. "…really?" He had earned only the Spy's small glance. That smirk he gave him made the boy grumble under his breath. Crossing his arms he gazes up at the time. It had been almost time for baseball.

Surprisingly the sun had been concealed by patchy grey clouds. Scout had almost forgotten that it was fall now. Swiping some stray sweat from his cheek he pitches the ball. A scream echoed, and he watched as Tracks fell upon her ass again. "…ggnnh," the young mercenary grabs her gut. A nauseating looking plays her pale face. Scout glares, his impatience growing. "I told you I was gonna pitch!"

"I…know! Agh…my tummy hurts," her lips pressed together, cheeks red with discomfort. The Scout taps his foot as the seconds passed. He glances at the sky—at least it was shady. "Well, go hurl and hurry up. You striked ten times since we started, and yer facts are boring. No offense." Striking him a glare she struggles to stand.

"At lease mine are actual facts!"

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Tracks could feel something foul come up from her stomach. She spits out the foul liquid, her gums tingling. As always she dusts her butt off. "You dated a _Miss Massachusetts_ runner up? Please, I know that's a stupid lie." Scout wiggles his jaw, his hands tingling. Tracks bends over, grabbing the ball that fell near her.

"If you ask mean you're nothin' but a big suck up," Tracks threw the ball to him. Scout growls as he snatches it. "Look whose talkin'. Snipes and Frenchie freakin' went soft because of you. Who's the suck up now?"

Now that pissed her off. Cracking her knuckles she stomps her foot. "I didn't soften anyone up! If anything **you're **the one actin' like a little brat." The Scout sneers at this, his teeth clenched so tightly that his gums began to hurt. He stomps forward threateningly. "Yo, you're pissin' me off! Shut up!"

"Or what? You'll fight me?"

"I'm warnin' you!"

She grabs her hair, sticking a hip out. "Oh, someone! _Heeeelp me! _He's crazy I'm sooooo scared of the SCOUT!" That was it—he had it! With a strong thrust he throws the ball. It spins towards her. Tracks glares, raising the bat and swinging. But something was different. She heard a noise. A loud noise. It beats deep within her ears. Her eyes widen as the ball flies away. "…bonk," she mumbles, her shaking hand releasing the bat. "…I did it." She did it. "I…hit it." She hit the ball. Scout could only watch dumbfounded as the ball flew in at incredible speed. "…oh shit," he grunts, raising his hand up. Successfully he catches it, his form stumbling back.

She actually _hit _the ball. A gleeful, priceless smile grew. It wasn't long before she started bouncing on the spot. "I DID IT! I HIT IT!" Laughing she kicks her feet to the side, her body performing a small dance. "I hit iiit, I hit iiit, I….I…" Looking up she spots the Scout racing towards her, his eyes filled with a deadly determination. Tracks stumbles, her body too stunned to move properly. "Ahh…ah…b-base! Base, first base!" Pathetically she scurries over to the concrete square. Something so simple had proven to become so vital. Why she took this game so seriously all of the sudden she hadn't the slightest clue. It was as if the fight before never happened. She just wanted to run home. She wanted to win. In no time she hit first base, and then second. "Ahahah! You're never gonna catch me!" Peering over her shoulder she notices the Scout only feet behind her. Her eyes widened, a loud squeal escaping her lips. She was so close!

Scout bites his lip, "No you don't!" Jumping forward he slams into her, the two rolling along the ground. His back lands against the third base, the Tracker landing jump above him. The two groan, dust flying through the air. Before Tracks could even realize what happened a ball presses lightly on her forehead.

"Huh?"

The Scout grins at her. "Yer out," he snickers, her face growing long. Frustrated she rolls her fingers into fists, slamming against his chest. "You JERK!" The Scout laughs, his voice squeaking with ever beat and pound. Tossing the ball to the side he grabs onto her wrists and clasps them onto his rising chest. A light growl erupts from her throat, and he continues to snicker. "Awe c'mon, don't get all pissy. I played the game fair like ya wanted!"

Pressing her lips together she fumes. "…" Suddenly she goes limp, her head laying against his shoulder. Her entire body seemed to have press against him. The Scout's throat grew tight, his muscles tensing. She was so close he could feel every little breath, little twitch she made. Rolling her face up she locks her brown gaze into his blue once. "…aheh," he gave her a nervous grin—at this point smiling hurt him. His aching jaw quivered, his teeth clicking. A light hue of pink spread through his flushed cheeks. It was so obvious that she even saw this. "You okay?" she pushes herself up, her face approaching his. Scout gulps.

"Y-Yeah! Why wouldn't I be?" he bit his lip. The two stayed in silence, and he could have sworn he saw her eyes soften. He must have looked real pathetic. Looking away the Scout releases her hands. His fingers interlock into his hair, his hat being shoved back some. "It's late. Let's get back," he scratches his head. This was getting too much. The woman was making him **think **again. It was killing him from the inside out. Scout began to lean up, but a pair of soft hands pushes his shoulders back down. He grunts, eyes wide.

"…what the hell are you-" he was interrupted when something soft pressed against his lips. _W…what? _This was a dream—it had to be. Or maybe he was fantasizing again. But no, this felt so real. It felt much too real. The touch of her lips against his was warm, and almost stinging. The feeling of her light and gentle touch running along his collar bone shyly. The heat that grew between the two of them. Oh, fuck no. This wasn't him imagining. Scout was kissing Tracks, and he liked it. He **liked **it. Pressing his lips back he slowly grabs her waist, pulling her in closer. Unsure, she attempted to retract back. Scout knew she was embarrassed—the Tracker was inexperienced and shy. She didn't even know why she did it. And to be honest...that made him enjoy it more. Tilting his head he ran his tongue along her bottom lip. A light gasp escapes from her flushed face. Scout never kissed someone like this—never. It felt so good. This was perfect. But when she pulls away it seemed to have ended too soon. A disappointed, flustered look played his face. Tracks breathed, her cheeks red. Shyly she brushes her hair behind her ear. "Ahh, I-I don't know why I did that. It's my stomach, I swear! Ehh…I'm sorry." The Scout gulps.

Damn…she was too cute. His light touch on her cheek made her grunt. How many times did he tell himself to shove her off if this ever happened? The amount was uncountable. But damn that all to hell. Scout could care less about his pride now.

"…do it again," he mumbles before pulling her back in.


	16. The Running Heat

_Note: Sorry for such a long time before the update-I had myself one hell of a nasty midterm that I kept all of my attention on. Don't ever take anatomy/physiology with an old man. All he ever does is complain about male pattern baldness! Enjoy~. _

"Ahh…I think we should stop.."

It was difficult to speak under these conditions. "S…Scout," her words were nearly intangible. Lips press against hers again, hushing her objections with the sweet stirring sensation. This was hard for her to grasp. It was happening all so fast. Just moments ago they were outside on the ground surrounded by dirt and patches of dead grass. The rocks that pocked her backside were replaced with the Scout's firm grip, the length of her body now pressed between him and somewhere else. Where were they? The room was shaded and smelt of cherry fizz. Tracks couldn't even keep up—her mind was screaming. It was screaming as his hands rubbed against her sides and cupped her cheeks. And she could feel her pride melt into pure flustered emotions when she wraps her fingers inside his dirty blond locks, twirling them carelessly. Every breath he made seemed to be like a fog, dispersing when their lips press together once again. The little sighs she made got the Scout's mind going completely haywire. This was…unexpected for him. He admittedly tried to force himself to stop several times already, breaking the lock they made to try and clear his thoughts. But when he saw the looks she had—that blushed, shy, cute as hell look—shit, it pulled him right back. Her skin tingled when the tips of his fingers circled around her naval, tickling the edges of her belly button. Slowly they dragged down to the rip of her pants, tugging gently. A light gasp escapes her lips, and she grabs onto his wrist.

"W-Wait…"

**_Chapter 15_**

**_The Running Heat_**

Surprisingly enough everything they've been doing up until now weren't all very ego stroking. Tracks couldn't fight the small whimpers and raging blush. Scout's hands wouldn't stop trembling, and his stomach was pulling apart from the ravenous butterflies. Oh no, though they enjoyed every unthinkable, _unpredictable _moment they were still very nervous. His hot breath tickled her collar bone, and Tracks couldn't help but gulp. His fingers hadn't retracted, his eyes resembling that of a young pup caught ripping the curtains. It was as if he was frozen. She bit her lip. "…I'm not…"

That was it. She _wasn't_. At least—it sounded obvious to her. But the Scout's confused gaze made her huff. Scout's shoulders lower some. "Have you ever…done this before?" the question felt wrong to ask. But the way she shook her head made his cheeks burn once again. How could someone born in the deepest hole of Detroit and raised to be tough like a street cat be so damn innocent? Yet she shook her head to him, and she turned more and redder by the minute. This was weird. Was she getting embarrassed?

Scout's eyes widen—he was strangely astonished about this. "Well…you ever had a…_boyfriend_?" curiosity truly was dipped in that one word. Reluctantly she shook her head. That was something she really wanted to lie about but didn't bring herself to.

Reaching over his head he scratches the back of his neck. "Ahh…geez. N-Neither did I; well _that_! I've had a girlfriend though, ya know?" he lets out a nervous chuckle. But the way she twiddled her feet and squeezed her shoulders in made him gulp. She strikes him a glare—surely he wasn't going to keep up that damn act. Then again it **was **what made him.

"…does that mean…?" her voice was rather hush. Scout gazes down at her, his eyes widening. This whole time he had been trying to find the right words to say. "A-Ahh, sure! Why not? Boston bro and Detroit doll—makes sense, right?" Scout could feel his skin twitch; shit, what the hell was he saying? Tracks scoffs at his words as she gives him a firm smack. The Scout chuckles at her irritated strike, snickering as he presses her palm against his lips. Though her skin was calloused he couldn't help but feel how much softer it was than his own. It was a nice touch—something he could grow accustom to. The act throws her off more than the sensation. This wasn't very Scout like. Yet he did it, and it was beyond convincing. The strange softness that seemed to have unfold was a part of him only his mother would see—Tracks wasn't sure just how lucky she should feel. But either way it made her stomach twist, and she couldn't help but smile lightly at how he caressed the entirety of her palm.

Wait, why was she smiling? This was all so stupid of her. Tracks could feel her heart twist into never ending knots. Accepting—he was accepting of this. The two older men who watched her like illegitimate guardians would constantly speak of how much of a sour sport he tended to be. But this time he was doing something he so obviously didn't want to give into. _This can't be happening. _Tracks gulps; this too was something she tried to avoid. Liking somebody was just plain childish. How could she begin to develop something as lewd and preposterous as _affection _for someone as crude and cocky as the Scout? This young man was the definition—no, the image of **mistake**. This was a complete and utter mistake. The Tracker came here to work, earn money, and get free food. Never did she foretell something like this, nor did she want it.

"So…do you wanna be my…" He trails off—shit, what would he even call it? Girlfriend sounded so common and dull. "…ya know, _thing_? I-If ya don't mind I mean don't wanna force you," the Scout scratched his chest anxiously. **_Thing?_**What was he thinking?! He could have at least used better wording, but either way he would have been more comfortable not asking at all. She watched as she shifted on the spot and tried to find something else to look at. The pressure he was feeling must have been killer—how often did he ever ask a girl to be his anyway? Regardless it didn't look often, which meant a lack of experience. Upon getting no response the Scout could feel his shoulders slowly drop. Damn…it really does suck getting rejected. The fact that it would have run smoother if he had better wording made him the more agitated.

Biting the inside of his mouth he lets out a disappointed sigh. "Never mind, ferget what I said," he couldn't help but let the frustration well up within him. This was something that happened often—sure, he asked a hell of a lot of girls out. Rarely did they say yes, unlike with his three eldest brothers. They could all get what they wanted and when they wanted it, especially girls. But Tracks suddenly lunges herself forward, her arms wrapping around his waist. Pressing her cheek onto his chest she could hear the thumping of his heart. Scout fell silent, his gaze widening as he bit down on his tongue. "…you really mean that?" her voice sounded rather worried. In all honesty it did scare her quite a bit. This moment wasn't very easy to come by. The Scout grunts, his lips itching to retort back something back prideful. "…nah," he mumbles pathetically. Fuck—if his brothers could see how much of a pussy he was with this they'd never let it go. The REDs probably would treat him similarly as well.

"Heh, good. You're too cute to say no to," he could hear a mocking tone in her words. Now that really got him. Listening she could hear the thumping in his chest speed up. **Cute**—she called him cute. Insult or not, that made his very muscles melt under his skin. Standing was proving to be hard to do. His knees buckled and his thighs shook as if he ran for hours on end. If it were true—how she would never say no to him—then that most likely meant…oh god why did this have to happen to him? The feeling hit him just as hard as when they first kissed. Her light touch tickled his cheeks, and the Scout grunts curiously. Tracks pulls him down to her.

"Come here," was all she said, her hand playing with his hat. The Scout could feel himself pout; what the hell kind of answer was that? Usually a _big shot _like him knows how to handle these sorts of situations, but this time he found himself like stone again. Once he felt the warmth of her body pull away he seemed to have woken up from the trance he was in. He could feel her hand press his hat back upon his head. Cringing his nose he was temporarily blinded by the red light that flooded them. The loud ringing of the alarms could have torn the inside of their ears apart. The Scout groans upon realizing what the ruckus was, his large hand grabbing onto his hat. Tracks grumbles, her hands digging into her jacket's pockets. "What now?!"

_Days Later_

Pressing her way through Heavy she had nearly been crushed when he leans to the side. A small squeak of pain escapes her lips, and the Russian man grunts with confusion. "Oh, sorry leetle Tracker," he spoke, giving her a pet-like pat on the head. Her hair ruffled from his gloved touch. Blowing her bangs up she leans against the larger man, his large arm leaning against her shoulder familiarly. Not long after the Scout squeezed through, his cheeks puffed and brows arched. "Yo, give me some space fat ass!" he grits his teeth, pouting at the sight of the two standing comfortably. In mere moments the Soldier had placed himself in the center of the fairly sized room. The two youngest mercenaries gaze at one another bored—for the past week the Soldier had been organizing meetings where they would discuss nonsense.

"Serious business we have here, boys! The longer we wait the more likely our asses will be VIOLATED!" His spit rained down on the men. Though they remained still they couldn't help but give him obvious glances. The Spy groans, his hand rubbing against his masked head. "What are you speaking of, Soldier?" he almost regrets asking. The full blooded American gave a proud grin, his finger pointing upward.

"ALIENS! Probes, metal zooming majiggies, UNIDENTIFIED AIRCRAFTS!" He marches to the side, glancing at every one of them. "YES MAGGOTS, and lady…they are here. And they exist!" he slams his heels together, his helmet bouncing a tad. Tracks raised a brow, "Aliens don't exist, Janey," she earned a strange gaze from the Soldier. Twitching his eye he grunts deep in his throat. "Yes they do, I have proof!"

"Then show us, ya bastard!" the Demoman snorts, his arms crossed in disbelief. The Soldier places his palms on his hip, a large grin forming. "I SAW it. With my own two eyes!" Tracks blinks—the man seemed very proud about this. She always was aware of how oblivious he was but this…this was extreme. How stupid could the Soldier get? The Australian curses under his breath, his head shaking. The man felt that his morning was wasted once again. "Roight, whatever you say mate. I'm goin' back to me quarters," he spoke with as much politeness as he could muster. Glancing at the Tracker he squeezes through the entrance. "You don' need to stay 'ere, Shiela," he mumbles. Heavy obliges, following soon after.

The large man grumbles under his breath. "Stupidist thing he ever suggested. For big man…he has small brain," the Heavy whispers to the small crowd forming near the door. Soldier fumbles as the crowd continues to retreat out, the various comments snapping his hope. "I saw them! You guy gotta believe me!" Turning, Tracks gives him a pathetic smile. "Sorry, I ain't a very imaginative person…"

"Neither am I! Better luck next time," the Scout marches out, gum balled in his cheek. Tracker reluctantly chases after him. "See you at training!" Her hand waved lightly, the Soldier growling and slamming the clipboard against his hard helmet angrily. Days of planning were thrown down the drain now. Taking a step out of the small niche the Tracker found herself in the hallway. Calloused fingers wrap around her wrist, pulling her to the side. A light grin escaped her lips, her eyes blinking with shock. In seconds she was pulled into the darkness of the janitor room.

"The fuck?! SNIPES!"

"Geez, calm down it's just me," his grin grew as he caught her flailing wrists. A small yelp escapes as he hugs her stiff form. The softness of his lips overwhelmed hers, the warm kiss bringing her some ease. The Scout did this often, and she never seemed to have caught on. Before it would be in the halls, but that had to change or else the Administrator would chime into the moment.

_"Would the Scout and Tracker kindly __**finish **__their romantic moment so we can carry on our BUSINESS!"_

Now that was embarrassing. The Spy had been about to give them the hand if it weren't for Sniper. Either way he got his time with them. At the end of the day they were given rules to follow and aching bones to tend to in the morning. Scout hated being treated like a child. As for Tracks, she seemed to have detested the code of conduct that the men have bestowed upon them. Then again her overall respect was a tad bit higher than her male counterpart. A tingling vibration tickled his lip as she growled at him. The Scout grins, tilting his head a bit. Sometimes she didn't want to give in so easily and just go on about her day. She hated it when he snatches her from the open and has his way. Catching his lip in her teeth she bites down on it, earning a grumble from the flirtatious man. Arching her head back she tugs against his sore flesh, his eyes widening. "HNG?!" Finally after what felt like an eternity she releases him. "FAH?!" The Scout groans as he sucked against the now aching lip. If she had bitten longer he would have started bleeding. Hell, it would have been hot but still. He wasn't in the mood for that. Crossing her arms she gives him a stern gaze. "Don't you have better things to do than pull me around?!"

The Scout opened his mouth to retort, but she had brushed her lips against his. He flushes, his brow raising. "What?" he asks her, leaning back for his own safety. Something about the situation made his hair stand. Tracks pouts lightly. "Can't I kiss you?" Deception seemed to have pooled in her eyes. "You're gonna bite me again," he growls at her. Innocently she flutters her lashes. "Me? Naahh. I just wanna kiss you." She had to be lying. But when she playfully bit her lip it sent shivers down his spine. Shit—she was asking for _permission_ to kiss him. It was like subconscious teasing. Hell, she could kiss him whenever and where ever she wanted. Scout wanted her to know that. Most of all he wanted her to live by that. "…really?" he grumbles almost irritated. Her finger presses against his lip to hush him. The Scout swallows his words, his face dumbfounded. She rolls her eyes before tugging on his bottom lip lightly. "You're such a dip."

He furrows his brow. "I ain't the one askin' for permission to kiss her boyfriend," he grunts, her fingers still clipping against his lips. "After biting him," he rose his hand and flicks her forehead. Tracks grunts.

"So it's a no." Turning on her heel she goes to open the door. "It's alright—I got you. I'll just…go spend the day with Spy."

"The hell you are!" he pulls her back in. The Tracker snickers; success! Though he tried to conceal it he always seemed to be jealous. Countless times she would question his logic on the subject. Most of those men were aged to be like a father to her. Shutting the door behind her they were engulfed in darkness again. The Tracker wraps her arms around his neck, reaching behind him to pull on a string. The light flickers on, dimly lighting the confined space. His words were muffled by her chaste kiss. Once his back hit the wall she fully leans her weight onto him, her eyes closed as she continues to lock their lips together. Their noses brush against one another lightly, her body molding into his in utter perfection. The Scout had trouble in fighting back; mostly because he didn't really want to. For once he let his stubborn side die down. Taking his hands he cups her face, finally giving in and kissing back. The young man could feel the slimy texture of her tongue run along his lips. His mind was a blur—though it's been a week she never really got this much into their little private times. Without thinking he parts his lips, her tongue slowly gliding along his. Though he consumed the most flavorful of drinks and candies he had still managed to find a distinct taste that she possessed. It was indescribably addictive, even if it was his first time tasting her. It was shocking to say the least—Tracks had specifically told him that she hated _frenching_. To her it felt strange and discomforting, and it didn't help all too much when the Spy gave her small lessons here and there about the art of kissing. A shiver crawled up his spine when a light moan escapes her mouth. It vibrated against his lips, crawling down the length of his belly and into the deepest part of his abdomen. She had snatched something before pulling away from him. The Scout stares to her, dumbfounded. As she blew a bubble it pops before him, the air blowing into his face lightly. Scout had almost forgotten that he was chewing gum. Taking the pink blob she reaches under a nearby shelf and sticks it there. The substance had lost its original flavor.

"Scout flavored," she teases, her fingers wiping her lips lightly. A breath becomes trapped in his throat—this side of her blossomed so sudden. "Did you like it?" he dared to ask, a sideways grin forming. All it took was her small nod for him to grab her. A meek sound escapes her lips when he shoves his face against her, his tongue slamming into her mouth. The length of his was generally longer than hers, so she couldn't help but feel herself gag from the full feeling in her palate. A tingling, fizzy feeling overwhelms the insides of her cheeks—the taste of bonk was stronger now that he lapped up every part of her. This was all so much so fast she couldn't even keep track of his movements. The very tip of his tongue flicks against the hard palate of her mouth; surprisingly enough it tickled her. Butterflies tugged at her stomach and spiraled into her chest as small laughs began to grow. The feeling of her quivering body against his made his breath hitch. The way her body shook as she threw muffled giggled into his mouth was enjoyable. Something about it had gotten the Scout's heart pumping. Curiously he slides his leg in between hers, his thigh resting just below her groin. Lightly he bounces her up. Quivering hands dug into his shoulders and clawed ever so lightly. Damn that felt so good, and he didn't even know why. Snaking his hands behind her he manages to find the most curved point of her back. The Scout kneads his palm into it for some time, their small session becoming more and more bigger than intended. With slow movements he lowered his hand. The action was rather daring—he wasn't quite sure of the reaction he would get. Tracks whimpers when she feels his hands cupping her bottom. With ease he lifts her up and pushes her against the wall. Her mouth was freed from his tongue, an emptiness overwhelming it. "Wrap your legs around me," he ushers her. The sound of her lone panting filled the room. She was taken aback—he had managed to keep his breath so well. Damn him and his endurance.

"Why?"

"So you won't fall," he chuckles. Well, that seemed like a good enough reason. Though she was unsure about this the Tracker still didn't want to fall on her ass. She already had her weekly share of spills during baseball. With ease she snakes her legs around his waist. Taking his time he gives her a chance to catch her breath. "Better?" Earning a nod he gives her a smile. Closing in he gives her harder kisses, his hands still keeping a firm grip on her bottom. The small, tight space of the closet made the two pressed tighter to one another. The slick warmth of his tongue laps her bottom lip again. Something about the way he used that muscle made her start to like the thought of _frenching_. Tracks grumbles; the thought of her actually enjoying it made her feel like she lost another battle. Slowly he ran his tongue down the length of her neck. The trail of saliva he had left cooled her skin. Finally he clasped his lips into her collar. Her breaths became staggered when he started to suck and nibble against the area.

"Hng…" she bit her tongue. They didn't want to get caught, but the Scout couldn't help but test her. Taking his teeth he bites down harder. Tracks yelps, her hand clasping over her lips. The piercing nip made her stomach boil. What was happening to her? She felt all sorts of weird sensations riling up in the pit of her gut. It crawled from her naval downward between her legs. Clamping her legs tighter she could hear the Scout grunt. The softness of his fingertips mixed with the rough, aged wraps around his palms drove her mind into a frenzy. Scout breaths, struggling to keep himself calm. Tracks bit down on her lip irritatingly. Why was it so damn hard to keep quiet?! Sweat formed in the crook of her neck. The young woman groans. "Is it hot? You feel hot?" she chuckles nervously.

"It's hot. We should stop—it's _really _hot."

"Really hot?" he kisses the crook of her neck, leaving a fiery trail. She nods frantically. "Oh yeah."

"_Really _hot?" her finger presses against his lips. Tracks pushes his face back, a dull look on her face. "Quit mockin' me." Giving her a cheesy grin she rolls her eyes. The last time she gave him the cold shoulder he just keep trying and trying. The young woman returns her arms to his shoulders and hugs his neck comfortably. A lets out a small laugh as he takes his chance to proceed. The Tracker mutters small curses against their kisses.

"Ya love me."

"No…"

"Yes you do."

"No I don't," her words struggles to leave her mouth. The Scout had kept with his onslaught of kisses, the small smooches growing harder with each one. As his neck grew tired he allowed his arms to lower her slightly. The feeling of her heat trembling against his had begun to break apart his mind even more. It wasn't long until he started panting as well, his lungs dying for air. Yet he didn't want to give them the chance of claiming it. This was just too good to break apart. The fire between them made Tracker's blood boil. Little moans muffled as her lips moved with his, her gasps for air almost fruitless. But she felt something different between the two—a hard feeling that poked into her groin. Tracks breaks their kiss, her eyes widening. Though she was bewildered she couldn't help but fumbles with her thoughts. That poke was throbbing against her. The hungry, exhausted look in Scouts eyes was proof enough for her to realize what it was. "Ahh," she was at a loss of words, her cheeks burning red.

The Scout's wind was in a scrabble, his breaths burning and unmatched. "Ahh shit, I-I'm sorry," humiliation showers over him. He hadn't noticed how big he was getting, and honestly was expecting it to go away.

Oh if his brothers were there…

"Awe, fuck. I…jus' ferget about it, we can stop." He was about to lower her, but Tracks had pressed herself against him harder. Scout grits his teeth, a sharp breath sucking in. He could feel his eye twitch from the powerful sensation. Timidly he glances up at her. With soft eyes she digs her fingers into his hair. "No we don't."

"…okay," his voice was rather submissive as she presses her lips against his again. How far she was willing to go he wasn't sure, but her actions seemed to have tamed the anxiety that curled in his chest. The two jerk at the sound of a loud voice screaming through the halls.

"SCOUT! TRACKA! Where the bloody hell are you two blokes?!" A loathsome groan fills the room, and the Scout shot the door a glance. It was the Sniper calling them for training. Dammit—they had forgotten to keep track of the time! Scout hisses as she opens her legs, freeing her grip onto him. Landing on her own two feet she wobbles a tad. Blood rushes back into her lean muscles as the young man bends over to grab his hat and headset. "C'mon, we gotta…oh my god," her hand clasps over her gawking mouth. The Scout pants, his brow raised. "What?" he grunts before glancing down.

He gulps. "Oh…fuck." The sound of Sniper's persistent calls throw them off once again. Scout shifts behind her, shoving her to the door. "Go, go, go!" he tugs against the string, turning off the faint light. As they exit the room he had slammed the door shut in time. Sniper turns the corner. A tight feeling tugs on the Scout's chest—how was he going to hide the indisputable bump beneath his pants?! With frantic hands he grabs onto the Tracker. She gasps as he slams her back against his and embraces her body. His hard member is concealed, her bum pressing firmly against it. A small yelp escapes her lips at the feeling of it against her, his chin resting on top of her head calmly. Now all they had to do was act casual. Tracks gulps.

"Your,"

"Shhh."

"Frickin' **thing **is-"

"I know, just act natural."

Pressing her lips together the Sniper closes in on them. He opens his arm, an impatient look on his face. "Where the hell have you two been?! Trainin' started twenty minutes ago and the Soldier's madder than a blazin' cut snake!"

"Yeah, yeah ya damn koala herder. Be there in a minute."

"Sorry Snipes," Tracks laughs nervously, her hand rubbing the back of her neck. The Australian gives the two a suspicious glance. Scout gulps, his grip tightening around Tracks. His bulge rubs against her, her fingers twitching. This was the Scout's plea for assistance; anything to make the Aussie go away. Giving the Sniper an awkard wave she nods frantically. "Soon! We'll be there soon! Jus' got distracted, ya know?"

"…alright," the older man's voice grumbled, his naturally low tone tingling in their spines. He turns, his aged shoes scraping against the floor as he walks away. Finally, after about ten seconds or so he turns the corner.

Loud sighs of relief escapes their lips, the Tracker going limp against the uncomfortable boy behind her. "…that was close…"

"…so, wanna finish?" Striking him a glare she backhands the side of his head, earning a growl.


	17. The Running Temptation

Men adorned in blue evenly scattered in multiple posts. Seven in total were in sight—BLU team's Sniper and Spy were hiding no doubt. Scout peered over the corner, his eyes scanning intently. There was barely any opening left for him. Their base seemed to be under a very heavy surveillance. About 400 yards away was the entrance into their safe haven, and within it the object his interest. The BLU Engineer seemed to have grown tired of the Scout's stupid yet very effective recklessness and placed a level two sentry just above the sliding doors. Biting his lip the youngster wiggled his shoulders. This was no problem for him at all.

Taking his scattergun he pumps the bottom, the sound of bullets readying to be released into some poor souls cranium. Above him was Demo and Soldier on the second floor, their forms pressed firmly below the window. They, too, have been waiting for the right time. Giving the other a subtle nod the Demoman places a soft knock against the ground. The small sound tickles the inside of the Scout's ears and he grins.

"_Show time._"

**_Chapter 16_**

**_The Running Temptation_**

Dust flew through the air in a thick trail as he exits from his hiding place. Almost too quickly he had been under heavy fire. Though it was no issue for him to dodge through it still had caught him by surprise. The BLU team was truly expecting this to happen. The Scout felt a grin form—damn, it took them this long to catch on? Effortlessly his body skidded from left to right, ducking and rolling and hopping over every grenade and bullet. However, the Scout wasn't perfect. The BLU Sniper had managed a thick graze on his side as he was dodging. Scout grits his teeth, his lean abdomen slowly coating in a thin line of fresh blood. If he hadn't been so limber he would have had a thick bullet in his stomach. A shovel flew into his view, and the Scout spins out of the way. Taking his gun he shoots the assaulter.

"How's that feel, fat lip?!"

Not far off the Demoman had proceeded into firing his sticky detonators onto the enemy sentry. As always it took about three to take out a level two. A toothy grin formed at the sight of the mechanism shivering before collapsing in itself. Metal pieces and small cogs rain through the air, the Scout's had shielding him from the unwanted debris. A loud roar escapes the Soldier's mouth as he leaps up, the Demoman gleefully following. "GET THE INTEL, PRIVATE! WE GOT THESE MAGGOTS!"

"AYE! YER GONNA BE HURTIN' TADAY BOYS!"

The young runner's pace speeds up. Double doors slide open, crisp cold air embracing his stinging hot body. Loud explosions were practically muted as the doors seal themselves shut. Scout narrows his eyes—the rest was easy. All he had to do was find the intel, retrieve it, and then return back to his base to win. Lucky for him the battle was like a longshot. Out of all the types of battles they would perform this was by far the easiest one for him. After all, running was his specialty. Quickly and silently he maneuvers through the narrow halls. This was a maze he knew all too well. Certain rooms were placed differently compared to the RED base, but it was rare for him to really get lost. Scout didn't let this factor worry him. Once turning into a particularly suspicious hall he had spotted the tall blue door. There it was. The room he was searching for; the room he always seemed to have entered so often every month. The room with one hell of a keypad. But just when he had expected it to be a piece of cake the Scout notices something. He could feel his throat tighten at the sight that he had never saw before.

The room was _open_.

Suspicion rises and the Scout slowly takes soft steps forward. Light squeaks made him wince with every step—damn his shoes! If they weren't so damn comfortable he'd throw them off. But if there's anything the Scout can't stand it's being barefoot.

How his girlfriend could run around with just socks he couldn't even begin to understand.

Reaching his gun forward he pries the barrel in between the frame and the heavy metal door. A loud metallic moan fills the halls as he pushes it open ever so lightly. Slowly he peaks inside. Scout grunts, his eyes growing wide with confusion. The room, as always, had rows of filing cabinets lining the walls. The very center was empty, aside from the lone work desk of course. Usually the blue brief case would be sitting on the very desk waiting to be stolen. But no, now it wasn't there. Now it was gone; all that sat there was several papers, a pencil, and the damned office chair he tends to trip over now and then. Tilting his head to the side slightly he scans the room, his form stiff and straight. The echoes of his soft footsteps made his chest cringe, adding in suspension. The silence was killing him. Being this far in the base meant that no gunfire could be heard from the outside. Finally he had reached the desk. Placing a sweat palm on the table he had suspected the intel being cloaked or something along the lines of hidden. Once his palm presses upon the cold metal surface of the desk he furrows his brows. "The hell?"

A sharp whistle makes him jump. Spinning on his heel he points his gun towards the door. No one was there. "…whose back there?!"

Just as he asked a thin palm slides from behind the open door, pushing it closed. A form pokes its head from its hiding spot, a familiar smile chiming.

"Hi," her voice made his body go limp. Scout shakes his head in disbelief. "Tracks?!" She walks towards him, her body now showered by the white light above their heads. Biting her lip she reaches behind her back, pulling a briefcase into view. She watched as the Scout's jaw drops, her fingers beating against the blue surface of the heavy object teasingly. "I beat you."

The Scout snorts. "Shouldn't you be up in your snipin' tower, Rapunzel?" The girl snickers as she neared him, her hip bumping against his playfully. "Snipes said I should go for the intel—after all I never really did. Besides, it ain't my fault your ass is too slow." She chuckles at the side of his cheeks puffing with frustration. The boy grumbles under his breath, irritation evident on his face. But her fingers managed to tug on his cheek lightly, his expression bewildered at the gesture.

"Someone's jealous," she releases him, his breath snorting from the stinging pinch. Just as she turns he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in. "Ahh! No, not here," the Tracker bites back a laugh. But the Scout was persistent and presses his lips against her cheek.

"Gimmie a kiss."

"Later—we're working." He spins her, his face only an inch from hers. "I can think of a better job…" Much to her disliking she could hear how loud her gulp was. The growing grin on his face made her arms tense. Tightening her grip on the intel she raises a brow, pulling up her calm attitude. "What is it…?" She could see the glint in his eyes as he closes in on her. Tracks holds her breath—in all honesty she was planning on slapping him but that look had thrown her off completely. Never did the Scout give her such an alluring gaze. Unless of course he did in the past and she hadn't notice—maybe he was that bad at it. With a growing smirk she closes her eyes, intending on returning the kiss back. An emptiness suddenly overcomes her. Opening her eyes she blinks, dumbfounded. Her fingers grasp the empty air in confusion—what had just happened.

"Damn you're slow!" A growl escapes her presses lips as she spun on her heels. Scout had mounted the intel on his back, his eyes shining devilishly as his grin tickled his features. Tracks grits her teeth; he stole it from her?!

"Give it back you little brat!"

He seemed to have pondered, placing a finger innocently upon his lip as he leaned along the doorway. "Hmmm…nah," he turns to sprint off. Tracks gasps, her eyes narrowing as she tails after him. "YOU ALWAYS GET THE INTEL!" he could hear her scream from behind him. Scout chuckles.

"Awe, does someone wanna raise?!" It was true—the better performance you do the more money you earn. Though bringing in the intel didn't earn you much it would still accumulate overtime, increasing the Scout's overall paycheck. In all honesty this was how he kept his wage up with the others. So in order for Tracks to get a share of the bargain he would make her work for it. Everyone knew that wouldn't be easy; it was hard keeping up with Scout on his top game. Though he had to hand it to her—getting into the base without anyone knowing was hard as hell unless you're the Spy. Her binoculars really gave her that extra edge, but then again that's what really made her perfect for a support role.

The hot blazing sun scorches his fair skin. Going from hot to cold temperatures made the Tracker's head spin, but she forced her legs to keep going. After several seconds of striding through dangerous ground they managed to run into a safer clearing. As the Scout leaps for an edge he could feel fingers wrap around his ankle. "HNG?!" he grunts with surprise, his body crashing down onto the ground painfully. A groan escapes his lips, a sudden weight spreading across his stomach and chest. With blurry vision he opens his eyes, the silhouette of Tracks mounting him. Her arms reach up to grab the intel, the item only looking like a rectangle to him. He could hear the sound of her fingers pressing against one of the intricate keypads, the small beeps sounding of from being pressed.

"I….hate….chasing…you," she huffs, struggling for air. At first he simply stared, but her words finally registered in his brain and a cheesy grin begins to form. "_Really?_" his voice was teasing. He could hear her grumble something under her breath. Tracks attempts to stand but he had grabbed onto her wrists and pulled her back down. "No, let go! I got the Intelligence fair and square."

"This ain't over…" his hands grab onto her forearms and held tightly. Tracks huffs—he wasn't letting go anytime soon. Tilting her head she gives him an impatient look. "Ya know, teammates shouldn't fight," she tries to sound convincing. Once he'd loosen his grip she'd run off. But Scout knew better. He fell for that trick lots of times already and he wasn't intending on doing it again. Instead, his grip tightens. Tracks pulls her lips to the side, a snort escaping her nose.

"…Awe, c'mon baby. Can't I have it just this once…?" she leans down to his face, her lips hovering over his nose. Giving him a pout she waits for any reaction. Scout's face becomes rather dull.

This, _also_, was another trick he wouldn't fall for again. Not one word escapes his lips, his eyes unreadable and his lips pressed together into a dead expression. After several seconds of earning no reaction she huffs, her bangs flying up from her breath. "Awe **c'mooon **Scout!" she pleas, her lips planting soft pecks throughout his face.

"Just this once!" she kisses his lips.

"No."

"Please!" another kiss.

"No."

"Hnnnnnnnnnng Sccoooouuuuuuttt," she bounces against him, her whines mixed with both with anger and childish frustration. He grunts, struggling to stifle back a laugh. Planting her lips against his she gives him a long kiss, his body still lying still against the ground, his grip still overpowering against her arms. At one point the Scout opens his mouth, his teeth catching her bottom lip and nipping it. Tracks grunts, her body stiffening.

"Don't be such an ass," she finally pulls her face away from his. A red mark appears where he had bitten, her lips swelling up slightly. "Just let me take it—you're wastin' time!"

"No."

"….UGH!" she growls, her body intending to roll off. But he hadn't released his grip. Instead he rolls them over, his body hovering over hers now. The intel laid upon her chest. A growl, followed by a low cough, escapes her lips. "Damn…this thing is heavy!"

"Awe, is it? Geez…I'm sorry toots, looks like Ima have to bring it for ya."

Tracks blushes, her eyes wide. He wouldn't dare steal it from her now. "NO! Please, let me have this! I'll do anything c'mon Scout…" His eyes widened at this.

**Anything?**

He gulps. "…_anything_?" She growls furiously. "Yes! Anything, just let me bring this one in c'mooon!" Now that the Scout thought about it they _were _interrupted from finishing about a week ago. It would have been their first real experience, but someone always seemed to interrupt them. In all honesty either one was too shy to bring up the situation again. He would have, truly, but it made him feel like a complete bastard just thinking about it. "…nah," he grunts—he really wanted to take the offer, but watching her squirm was entertaining enough. Especially when she did it under him. He felt pretty powerful holding her down like this.

It was just too damn exciting to pass up.

Tracks fumes, her cheeks turning red with anger. "AHH! You're just a spoiled asshole! Don't you ever know when to share, ya dip!?" The boy dared to shake his head, and that only made her squeal more at him. He laughs at the sight, but the crumple of a footstep caught his attention. "Eh?" he grunts, gazing over his shoulder to see nothing. But there was indeed something there. Suddenly a force knocks him square in the jaw. The Scout yelps, his body slinging back and landing upon the ground harshly. Dust flies into his lung, his coughs gritty as blood drips from his lip. He had bitten himself from the unknown impact. Tracks curses under her breath, her body rolling to the side with the intel in hand. A weight pulled against it, and she was pulled to her feet. There she fought against what seemed to be midair. The intel jerked back and forth, her grip just as tight as when the Scout had held her in place. Her eyes widened as a cut appears upon her palm. The injured hand jerks back, the other still gripping onto the handle of the blue briefcase.

"Finders keepers!" she growls, swinging her dangerous legs to the side. A grunt of the BLU Spy appeared from before her. Dodging her he had released his grip on the intel, and she stumbles back. Landing on the ground she loses grip on the intel. A loud crumble of rock roll as the intel glides along the ground. It bumps against the Scout, hid hand pressed over his mouth.

Tracks fumbles in place, her gun just a tad more than arms-length away. Her eyes narrowed, teeth gritting as she scurried for it. Fingers wrap around her ankles, dragging her away from her desired weapon. A yelp escapes her lips as weight shifted on top of her. Invisible knees held her legs in place; a firm gloved hand holding both of her wrists above her head. Viciously she jerks her hips side to side, her arms struggling to free themselves. The BLU Spy appears, his eyes narrowed in an intent gaze. "Bonjour, mon petit."

"…afternoon," she grumbles, expression defeated. Not only was this an awkward position, but the BLU Spy had probably been watching their previous endeavors. This had only lead her to believe that the RED Spy had been somewhere watching as well, and that only made her stomach sour. Pressing her lips together she gave a very disgusted look. The glare of light reflecting from the BLU Spy's pristine blade had pulled her from her thoughts. "Ahhh…"

He gives her a mocking glance. "Merci, my dear, for watching the Intelligence for me."

Tracks shakes her head, eyes wide in panic. "WAIT, WAIT, WAIT, WAIT!" Suddenly the Scout's shoulder collides into his side, the youngster's wrapped palm grabbing onto the older man's wrist. "GET OFFA HER!" A grunt of annoyance escapes the BLU Spy's lips as they crash onto the graveled ground. Mounting him the Scout places a flurry of punches onto the masked man's face, his hand still holding onto his armed wrist. The butterfly knife inches dangerously close to the Scout's face ever so slowly. Only his punches kept the BLU Spy from breaking away. Tracks shakes her wrists in an attempt to relieve the tense sensation. The mask man had managed to kick the boy off, his knife missing just by a hair and slicing the boy's cheek. He grips his side out of reflex, the bullet graze hot and stinging. He should be used to this by now, but he had been caught off guard.

Note to self—listen to your girl and hit on her _after _work.

The BLU Spy had rose his arm, his knife ready to stab. But Tracks had wrapped her fingers around the blade from behind. A hiss of pain escapes her dry throat, the edges of the perfect blade slicing into her skin and scraping the bone. The enemy seemed startled by this act, his eyes widening. Her thin arm snakes around his neck and with the weight of her body she pulls him off and onto the ground. The two land in a thud, his weight laying upon hers. With that she wraps her legs around the BLU Spy's waist, her extremities pulling him down with all of the strength and weight she could muster. Only gravity and time seemed to be her allies against stronger men. "GO!" she looks up to the Scout.

He stares before shaking his head. "Fuck no!" Without hesitation he runs forward, but a bullet misses him by a hair. Stumbling back the Scout lands on his bottom, his hands pushing against the dirty ground. The BLU Sniper had missed. With wide eyes he looks up at her struggling form, the BLU Spy attempting to saw his knife free. She lets out an agonizing growl, her legs squeezing against him. It brings the man some discomfort as he reaches back and pulls against her arm. If he were a dirty fighter he would have yanked her hair, but seeing as to how this was a young lady he had kept himself from the temptation. Tracks gives the Scout a sneer. "Dammit Scout I'll be fine! Just go!"

He bites down on his tongue. "D…Don't die!" he practically yells, grabbing the intel before racing away. Guarding his head from incoming fire he could hear the roar of another bullet. As he escapes into safety he had come to noticed he was no longer under fire—somewhere the RED Sniper had slain his counterpart, and the Scout couldn't help but mentally thank him. Slowly but surely her muscles began to weaken. Suddenly the BLU Spy had pulled his knife free, his flawless blade digging into her arm. Letting out a gasp of pain she releases him. Rolling to the side she messily grabs her machine gun, her body jumping up. Almost instantly he was on his feet, his magnum drawn. Tracks feels her breath hitch at the sight. Dirt patched the two of them, her aim still and deadly but her breathing unmatched. She gulps, her trigger finger itching to pull.

"…okay," she nods, letting out a long and exasperated breath. Reluctantly she drops her gun, her arms rising up over her chest defensively. The BLU Spy gave her a suspicious glance, her breaths calming into a decent pace. The man clenches his jaw. Taking in a deep breath she takes a step back. He was about to speak until a sudden pain tears through his right shoulder. The BLU Spy curses in his native tongue, blood sprinkling from the open wound. Darting his head up he spots Sniper. The Aussie had relocated to the nearest roof. If he had a better view prior he wouldn't have, but the two were in a damn blind spot. The enemy Spy raises his arm, his teeth gritting from the pain of his torn muscles. Pulling the trigger he lands a shot on the tanned man. He clenches his stomach with his free hand, the other keeping a weakening grip on his rifle. Tracks gasps at the sight, her hands desperately reaching for her gun. The BLU Spy watches as the Australian stumbles to one knee. "Blood bastard!" Red coated his gloved palm, an expression of agony and determination mixed on his face.

"Hey, big shot!" her voice screams to him. The man had been ready to shoot Sniper again, but Tracks had broken his aim. Once he turns his gaze his eyes met that of a gun barrel. Tracks pulls the trigger, her teeth clenching so hard they would have cracked. Effortlessly he dodges her messy aim, his tense arm swinging his gun outward. When the loud roar fills her ears the sting followed not long after. It was almost too instant when she fell to her knees, her weapon slipping from her hands. The bullet was strong, the impact forcing her back to hit the ground hard. With shaky hands she wraps her arm around her abdomen. The warmth of rich red blood stuck to her arms. Her cranberry jacket clung to her skin, the fabric torn lightly. A light whimper escapes her lips. It hurt—although everything else felt numb she still felt the sizzling hot metal of where the bullet should be. Yet it wasn't there. The damn thing went right through her and clogged into the dirty ground. Dryness overwhelmed her eyes, and she could have sworn her throat collapsed. No air would come in. It was shock she felt. She must have been in shock. The only time she had ever felt something like this was when she ran into what she had mistaken for an empty street. A car had stopped just in time and just knocked her on her back. Though she hadn't gotten ran over it was still strange enough.

Just when she had started becoming lost in her thoughts a shadow casts over her. Hesitantly she looks up. The man had approached her, his one hand holding onto his injured shoulder. The red tainted his jacket, the red mixing evenly with his blue suit. A purple tint formed on his high quality clothing, his face filled with disappointment at the sight of it. "Forgive me…the first shot usually is the only," his eyes were surprisingly genuine. A shaky breath escapes her swollen lips, her body shivering slightly. The cold touch of silver steal pressed ever so lightly against the very center of her forehead. Tracks presses her lips together, her brow rising. "Try…shooting somewhere else next time.." she coughs, the salty taste overwhelming in her mouth. Fear was evident, but not as strong as the last time. She knew she would come back—the only thing that was truly bothersome was the pain before and after. The BLU Spy lets out a sight. "Yes ma'am."

Up above the Sniper fights the urge to fall. His body slowly lost sense of feeling. Blood seeped from between his fingertips, his exhales hoarse. "…damn, Tracka," he grits through teeth. With aching arms he aims down his sights.

_Click. _

"Fuckin'…SHIELA!"

**_BANG._**

Scout skids to a stop, his body spinning. The voice belonged to the Sniper. "…shit," he grunts, his legs aching to run back. The strong pull from Pyro had force him to turn back. The taller man shoves him back into the RED base, his voice muffling unknown commands. A barrier of fire kept any unwanted foes back, his voice screaming beneath his thick mask. Inside the building the Scout had made it into the return point. The Medic had pulled the intel from his grip, the young boy stunned an dazed. His lungs wheezed heavily as the Administrator chimed them victor.

They won—for some reason it didn't feel all too precious as it should for him. Although a hand had patted his shoulder firmly he had still been motionless. The RED Spy stands near his side, his eyes trying to find some form of emotion from him. Though there was nothing but exhaustion. It was almost as if he were traumatized. "Scout," he finally caught his attention after speaking his name for a third time. The Scout gasps in another breath, his one wrist wiping across his mouth. The Spy squeezes his shoulder in an attempt to calm him. "Where is the Tracker?"

"Wha?"

"Tracks. Where is Tracks?" he questions him. For several seconds they stood, the youngster looking as if he were trying to recollect his thoughts. Then it hit him all too quick—she was left behind. "Fuck," he sneers and races down the hall.

"Respawn…respawn…" This by far was the fastest he had ever run in very long. Snapping hands against the door he swings it open. To his left sat the Sniper. The Aussie had been coughing, his hand pressed firmly into his head as dirty curses dripped from his mouth. To the right was Tracks, her body now sitting up slowly. Her expression looked discomforted and pained.

"…fuck," he mumbles, limping his way to her. Scratching her pounding head she raises a brow at him. "Ehh?" As his arms wrap around her she couldn't help but find herself astonished. The sweaty man leaned most of his weight against her, his legs collapsing onto the bench she had woken up on. A fit of gags erupted from her throat—a mix of respawn sickness and the scent of his stinky sweat had overcame her in a sudden swoop. Biting her lip she carefully wraps her arms around him in return, her eyes concerned. "You…okay?" she asks. Burying his nose into the crook of her neck he sighs to himself. Damn—that was scary as hell. Of course she couldn't die but it freaking scared him shitless. "Don't do that shit again…"

"I-I won't…"

He winces when her hand hovers lower, rubbing against his wound. Retracting it she gazes at her palm. Blood smeared over it, patched in dust, cloth, and dirt. "You're shot," she gasps, pressing her hand back into the spot.

"I don't give a frick…" he grunts, content where he was now. He didn't want to let go of her. The thought of her technically dying practically killed him. He didn't wanna lose the damn girl. Sniper could only watch the mind bending scene—this was the damn Scout he was looking at. To see him in such a state was once viewed as impossible, but now it was reality. The smell of tobacco filled his nose, and the tanned man rolls his eyes towards the door. The Spy couldn't help but blink at the scene as well, his eyes growing larger by the second. The Scout's nose flare, the smell of cigarettes filling his nostrils. He grunts, releasing Tracks to gaze around him. Just as he had expected the two men were there in plain sight. "…hng, yeah. You're all right. Awesome! I knew you had it in ya, aheheh OW…" his act drops when his side began to beat with pain. Blood drips against the ground, pooling hear the Tracker's feet. Embarrassment shined through pink cheeks as the Spy shot him a daring grin.

"Come. Let's take you to the infirmary…"

**_SNIP._**

"GAH…fuck…hurry up Doc will ya?!" Once again the Medic snips the cut a bit larger. Another yelp from the Scout was earned.

"Stop moving, Herr Scout! You are fine, don't be such a baby," as usual he teased the youngest of the men. A growl of disapproval escapes the Scout's lips, his arms gripping onto the edges of the metal slab. Now with tweezers in hand the Medic picks out a piece of stone. Successfully he hums to himself a German tune, the little rock bouncing within the dish near him. Scout grumbles.

"All of that for a damn piece ah rock."

"Patience is something zat must be practiced in medicine my boy. Now hold still vhile I heal ze rest of ze wounds." Doing as he was told the Scout crosses his arms, his nose cringing at the smell of tobacco once again. The Medic's nostrils flare and he sneers.

"Spy! How many times must I remind you; I do not like it vhen you smoke in my office," he hisses with disapproval. The Spy gives him a sly smile before claiming his smoke. Casually he presses it against a nearby bedpan. Though it obviously was for other reasons it made a rather fancy makeshift ashtray. The Medic grunts, his shoulders shrugging. He supposed it would count. Turning his attention back to the Scout he proceeds to switching on his various gadgets. "You did good vork today, ja?"

The Scout grumbles. "Yeah. Thanks."

"As always you brought in ze intelligence. And vith the help of Tracker, so I vas told." Before them the injury began to heal, and the Scout carried on the conversation regardless. "Yeah…she did."

Medic nods, his bloody hands fixing his glasses. "I heard she vas killed again. She may be experiencing some phantom pains—keep an eye on her for me vill you?" he asks the boy calmly, but his reaction wasn't expected.

"What am I, her keeper?!" the Scout blushes. Medic raises a brow. "Nein. I just zought you two vere close is all." Within his head the Scout curses himself. Was it that obvious?!

"Well I don't. Quit sayin' shit like that," he spat to the German. Suddenly, a long and eerie chuckle from the Spy caries through the room like smoke. The sound of it made his skin tingle, and the youngster couldn't help but snort at it. The hell was the French bastard planning on doing to him now?

"Don't hide your feelings boy. It makes them more obvious," smoke slithered from between his lips. Rubbing his chiseled jaw he raises a brow kindly at him. "…wouldn't you agree doctor?"

"One hundred percent—ehh, no offense dear boy," the Medic pats him firmly. Blood splotches onto the Scout's clothes and he groans with disgust. "Awe man, c'mon! Lay offa me will ya? It's already embarrassing enough that everyone frickin' knows." The Spy hums to himself as if suddenly understanding something. Shaking his head he approaches the Scout and helps him off of the stretcher. As the boy pats his now healed stomach the French man strides towards the door.

"I don't understand why. You are very lucky after all—she's a very lovely girl. I'm sure she'll show you…perhaps soon," the Scout gulps from the man's words. Spy shot him one last look before opening the door.

"I doubt it won't be long until you make her yours."

Make her his? What did he…oh that bastard.

"FUCK YOU!" the Medic jerks as the boy had grabs the bed pan and flings it towards the retreating figure. It slams against the frame just as it shuts, a large blush engulfing his face. Scout knew it—he knew the Spy was watching them! Who the hell did he think he was?! Glaring to the side he points to the Medic. The man had simply rose his blood coated hands up defensively. His expression was calm; the man knew something as well, he just wouldn't spit it out. "You in on this?!"

"Nein, nein. I am just ze Doctor. I tend to injuries and nothing more," the sly look on his face practically sickened the Scout. The boy curses, jumping on his feet and heading for the door. Pushing it open his form had bumped into another. "…Tracks?" he grunts, blinking at the sight of her clenching her stomach. With flushed cheeks she peers up at him.

"…it hurts," she gags, her hands rubbing against her aching stomach. "…" The Scout bit his lip. In all honesty he didn't want her going in there at the moment. He was somewhat afraid of what the Medic might hint on to her. Another nauseating hiccup escapes her lips and she sniffles to herself. "This sucks," her words would have been seething if it weren't for the headache that accompanied her aching belly. And she thought respawning was like being anew, here she was throwing up as if she were pregnant. Scout continues to view her shuffling form, her eyes squeezed shut and teeth nibbling her lips. "…c'mon doll I'll take care of ya," he takes her hands and ushers her down the hall. "Are you Tracks couldn't help but roll her eyes as she willingly followed.

_Note: I kno__w, this was another late update again. Forgive me-I just came from a rather nice stress relieving vacation to the Bahamas. I'm in the mood to write something **kinky**, so I'll be working on the next post right after this. I hope you all don't mind a little **spice** in your stories of interest..._

_-H.W. ;'D_


	18. The Running Nasty

_Note: Spice makes life, indeed._

Tracks had spent most of their walk struggling to support her own weight. Biting her lip she curses under her breath as her ankles buckled. "Nng…"

"Hey, you can lean onto mean alright?" The Scout's arm wraps around her waist in a soft embrace. Noticing the hint of red on her cheeks he gives her a small smile. "C'mon babe this is normal. It's only your second respawn." She noticeably huffs to herself as a weak arm wraps around his shoulders in return. Walking proved to be much easier now. Respawn sickness was completely normal to those who weren't used to it. The fact that it was unavoidable, however, and would always happen upon revival made her loath the fact that she could come back. Of all places she just had to get shot in the stomach, and now she can't even down a glass of water without it feeling like hot rocks. Placing a palm over her aching forehead she tugs her brown bangs slightly. "I think I'm gonna be sick…"

"Like you already aren't?" That smartass remark of his got to her as she shot him a glare. But the Scout couldn't resist the teasing—at the end of the day he'd get some bruises but it proved to brighten her overall mood. Turning into their hall they finally reach the front of his room.

**_Chapter 17_**

**_The Running Nasty_**

He took a moment to pause, his arm tightening around her weakening form. Turning his leg out he supports her lower half with his thigh as he proceeds to turning his knob with his free hand. A low gasp made him stop. Tracks gags, her head flinging down as she wretched upon the floor. Clear, white, and foamy liquid poured from her spastic throat as salty tears welled up in her eyes. The Scout curses, his body jerking back with disgust.

"Shit," he kept his grip tight on her. Wiggling his jaw he finally swings his door open. "Okay doll, c'mon. We'll clean that up later," he struggles to pull her limp form in. Finally they were engulfed in the sporty darkness of his room. With his sneakered foot he shoves the door closed. Tracks's mind was a mess. Though she was awake everything seemed like such a blur.

"…where's Spy?" she mumbles. The last time she had a terrible headache such as this the Spy gave her some good homely remedies. From what she could remember it was a warm compress and some herbal drink. Scout grunts, "Spy's stalkin' around somewhere."

"M-Medic? Ow…" a small whimper escapes her lips. The clutter on the ground had proved to be an even more terrible challenge for her to face. The Tracker's foot becomes caught in a small grove near clothing pile. Stumbling forward the Scout had managed to catch her with ease. Long and antagonizing groan slithers from her burning mouth as he lifts her up the classic bridal fashion. She wraps her arms around his neck as he maneuvers around his room with ease. He hadn't even needed to look; the Scout knew his domain all too well. The coldness of his empty bed brought her hot body some ease. A light moan escapes as she practically shriveled up in his messy covers. It hadn't been touched since six that morning, so the crisp air had turned it into a temporary cooling pad. Scout rolls her ever so slightly, her low grumbles making his eyes furrow. "I need space too ya know?" he grunts before sitting upon the edge. Upon releasing her she rolls back towards him, her stomaching pressing firmly against his back.

With pressed lips she mutters very faint words. "Make it stop…" The Scout raises a brow as leans to the side to remove her shoes. How exactly was he supposed to stop it? The farthest he had planned was all the way up to bringing her to his bed. Mentally he curses himself as he pulls her socks off before proceeding to his own sneakers—how stupid could he get? Tossing their pairs of footwear to the side he rolls her back over to place his palm ever so lightly upon her aching naval. The cold touch of his fingers of her bare skin made her shiver, her head beating with pain. With that he rubs his thumb just above her belly button, her tank top rolled up just inches above his extremities. At first the action didn't do much, and she was on the verge of kicking him off the bed. But soon enough it proved to be rather soothing. Over time she could feel herself relax, and the pain began to settle into a more durable state.

"…feel better?" he questions her tired expression. Tracks rolls her eyes to him, a rather pathetic smile on her face. "Yeah," her voiced cooed ever so softly. Scout gulps—he never liked seeing her like this. By now they would be playing ball, but instead he was taking care of her. He was no master at this. The Scout could barely take care of himself. This worried him; when the Tracker was in pain it was usually something bad. She was so durable, much like him. The two were raised in similar settings and faced similar challenges in their youth. Usually when he didn't feel well his mother would put him in the bed with an ice packet on his head and serve him some homemade broth. The Scout could feel his eyes narrow. He didn't know where to find an ice packet. The last one had been used as the Soldier's punching bag, and he was in no way a chef. In fact, he could light canned soup on fire just by opening it. A light touch pulls him from his thoughts, and the Scout looks down to see her hand touching his.

"This feels good," she murmurs, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She sounded as if she didn't want to say it, but he knew her words were honest. A crook smile appears on his face as he hunches down to her level. Placing his lips on her forehead he remains on the spot. "…can I sleep here?" The young man raises a brow, pulling away to look at her. With pressed lips she had diverted her gaze to the side, a look of defeat on her face. Strange, she usually didn't like staying in his room. In all honesty he had wanted to take a nap after carrying her to her own bed after this, but something clawed away his idea almost instantly. "Y-Yeah," he couldn't help but stutter. For a moment her eyes widened. Tracks hadn't been expecting this answer. Shakily her jaw bit down on the inside of her cheek. Never was she cared for really, and she had been expecting him to loath the idea. A part of her felt foolish—the Scout cared about her so much that he'd take the mocking remarks of their others team members and even from the Administrator. Hell, he even sends in some of his pay to help Tracks pay for the young boy in Detroit. Of course he wouldn't mind.

Unsure she reaches up and takes a light hold around his shoulders. Reluctantly she pulls him down, and he messily follows after her. "Eh?" he questions her actions. It wasn't long until he had been lying beside her. Once again she looks anywhere but his eyes, not willing to see any negative signs. "Can…" her words trailed off. Damn, this was so fucking embarrassing. The Scout's brows furrowed as he waited almost impatiently for her to speak.

"Ahh…forget it," she grumbles. A chuckle startles her, and the feeling of his arm snaking beneath her waist made her jump. "Come here," he pulls her in. With a stiff body she allows him to position her on his laying form. The two were against each other in a cool embrace, the air conditioning vent blanketing them with a light frost. Beneath them the blankets crumbled and balled under their weight, but neither one seemed to mind. There was silence as the Scout pulls his head gear off, his light brown hair slightly messy. Laying his head back down on the pillow he allows himself to ease, and soon enough Tracks had begun to melt against him. Though she was naturally rough in person, her hands had a feminine touch. When they were like this something more foreign yet natural came out. She became a girl, and it was strange for the Scout to experience. Whenever this happened the Tracker would become abashed over herself. To feel her skin squirm from his touch and her mouth spitting out such childish requests of him simply mortified her. But she couldn't resist—for some reason he hadn't said no to anything yet. Perhaps her _girly _side wasn't all that bad? Finally giving in to the comfort she runs a palm along the length of his chest, her fingers dragging against the red fabric of his shirt. The way his chest moved up and down with every breath brought some peace to her aching mind. It was better than counting sheep. As she lowered her touch she stops at the crook of his shirt, his skin exposed ever so slightly. The tips of her fingers run along this strip of exposed flesh, and the Scout took in a sharp breath. Every spot her body touched seemed to burn against him. No, this wasn't that painful burn. It was _that _burn. It spread like wildfire from the strip of exposed skin and down to his groin.

Dammit—she didn't even notice what she was doing to him. "Nnn...thirty minutes," she mumbles, her face burying into the crook of his neck as she rolls her body into his more. A leg rested on top of his, the other outstretched to where their toes touched.

Thirty minutes.

He had thirty minutes of torturous heaven with her. This feel was murder. He could touch her, but he **couldn't **touch her. Eagerly his wrapped palms wanted more than that. They wanted to pull off clothes and feel the different parts of her untouched body. He wanted to press his lips against hers as he took away the part of her that signified her pristine youth, and actually bestow upon them the title of man and woman. What he wanted to do was different than what his brothers did to girls, and what he wanted to do to others before. Before he just wanted to have sex with those other girls back in Boston. But this was different. No, this was so very different then how that felt. The Scout wanted to _bed _her. And he was both proud and shameful for thinking it. However, he'd still do it. Whether it would take years or not for them to he still wanted to do it. Willingly he became lost in his fantasies. He could imagine the feeling, the sounds, and peak they would reach. Though he doesn't know how any of this felt he could imagine it, and he desperately hungered for it that he almost began to drool. Running his tongue over his front teeth he glides it back to his molars. Biting down hard her took in a sharp breath, his body stiffening. Tracks was asleep now. Her light breaths set his exposed collar ablaze.

_Ahhh, yes! Scout…right there!_

"Hng!" The boy shook his head—no, stop it! This wasn't the time to get too far into it. Gazing down to his hips he could feel the heat engulfing his groin. To be truthful he hadn't pleasured himself in weeks. Every time he tried he would feel unsatisfied in doing so. And only because he wished it was someone else's hand. A low groan startles him. Jerking his head down he watches the Tracker stir. Shit, it had already been almost an hour since she fell asleep and he hadn't even noticed. Shakily the girl stretches, a long sigh moaning through the air. The boy bit his lip, his face becoming long and irritated.

Dammit. She was so damn cute.

Taking a fist she rubs a teary eye, her body shuddering in the pleasing sensation of her stretch. Muscles shivered ever so slightly beneath her skin before relaxing. "Hng…you didn't sleep," she yawns, noticing he had been in the same exact position as earlier. The boy grumbles under his breath, his eyes narrowed and darting the other way. Tracks blinks as she furrows a brow. "…you okay?" she questions him. Scout puffs his cheeks out, a frustrated sigh exiting his lips.

Just ignore the feeling and keep still. If he kept doing that then he would calm down.

"Yeah…you feel better?" he grunts. Taking her hand she scratches the back of her neck. Her body had still been pressed against him. "Wonderful," her voice was both sarcastic and mocking. A grunt of approval was all she earned. Tracks wiggles her jaw, her shoulders going limp. The hell was his problem?

"…hey." Rolling herself up she mounts the Scout, her groin pressing against his. A low hiss escapes his gritted teeth, his eyes widening. At first he planned on cursing her out. This wasn't the time to tease him. But the look on her face was innocent. Shit, she didn't know. Gulping he tugs against his shirt anxiously, sweat beading on the side of his forehead. "What's wrong?" she leans forward, her lips brushing against his nose.

"You feel sick?" Her worry only made his situation worse. Stuttering, he struggles to keep a calm façade. "G…Get off, will ya?" he wraps his fingers around her waist and tugs against her lightly. The young lady didn't budge. Instead she sneers at him, irked by the sudden coldness he was giving her. "Look, if this was for throwing up outside your door I'm sorry." The Scout diverts his gaze. After a few seconds she hunches her head forward, her lips pouting. "C'mon, Scout. I hate it when you're like this. Cheer up, what's up with you?" she huffs, her breath blowing her bangs up ever so slightly. The Scout proceeded to tugging on her again, ushering for her to get off. The way she moved against his growing member excited him. He could begin to feel it growing larger beneath the cloth of his pants. He breaths stagger, an exasperated sigh flying from his lips.

"F-Fuck…c'mon Tracks get offa me…"

Earning an irritated grunt he could only want as she sits up and scratches the back of her head. "…you want me to leave? I mean I will, just say so." Her words were honest—surprisingly enough she didn't feel like being a jerk to him. Tracks just thought he wasn't feeling well. A crushing sensation overwhelms his heart as she spoke those words—ask her to leave? Opening his mouth he was about to take the opportunity to excuse her, but nothing came out.

_Fuck_, he didn't want her to leave. He wanted her to _stay_.

"…well?" she blinks. A light shadow hid his gaze from her, his body motionless. Tracks lightly taps her fingers against her neck, her head tilting to the side. Was he falling asleep or something. Pulling her lips up into a small smile she lowers herself back down to him. With kind fingers she takes his jaw and tilts his head up just enough to kiss him. "It's okay—it's your turn to feel better."

His turn to _feel better_?

Strong arms wrap around her waist, and Tracks yells in shock when he had flipped the two over to the side. Her back slams against his mattress, bed covers wrapping around her armored legs. The Scout's palms held her wrists on either side of her head. Frantically she shifts her gaze from here to there, her mind scattered. What the hell was going on?!

"S-Scout?!" she questions him, face blushed with furry. "Get offa me! Get…" her words trailed off. As she gazed up to him she noticed the look in his icy blue eyes.

"…I told you to get off," he mumbles, breath staggered. Beneath him the young girl pressed her lips together in confusion. Though she wanted to slap him she couldn't help but fumble with her words. "Ahh…I-I'm…sorry?" she laughs sheepishly. Scout bites his lip, hard.

"You have no idea…" his words trailed off. Discomfort overwhelms her when his eyes scanned her stiff body. Her brown hair waved and rippled over her shoulders, her pony tail loose enough to where her bangs mixed in with stray strands. During their little flip her tank top had managed to tug down a little too far. The rims of her undergarments exposed ever so slightly. Where her jacket had gone she hadn't the slightest clue, but it had probably feel somewhere on the floor of his room when they had entered. Swallowing a lump in her throat she lets out a nervous sigh. "You angry at me or somethin'?" she attempts to sound angered. Scout's eyes widen.

"Because if you are I don't even know what I did!" Angry? What did she mean by angry? He wasn't angry—he was frustrated. But either way she wouldn't understand. He would have to show her. At that moment she bites her lip and cringes her shoulders inward. Opening his mouth a low gasp escapes, his thighs tensing. The way she did that was so hot he couldn't stand it. "Scout…what's wrong with you?"

"…" Leaning forward the Scout pulls her palm gently downwards. It travels between them, her eyes wide with confusion. Finally he rests her palm firmly against the zipper of his pants. The fabric burned hot, a strange pronounced hardness beneath his clothing. Tracks knew what this was. "O-Oh…I-I don't really…" she struggles to keep calm. This was bad—she didn't know how to handle this!

Scout could feel her palm shivered in his grasp. Gently he takes her hand it guides it forward, her palm pressing harder against his groin. He seemed to have stifled a sigh, his shoulders cringing sharply. The time it took for him to close the space between them was almost an eternity for her. "Let's do it."

Tracks holds her breath. "D…do what?"

The hot sensation of his tongue lapping up her bottom lip had set a fuse in her head. With their free hands they lock fingers, her quivering palm still pressed firmly against his package. Tracks struggled to swallow the saliva that built up in her throat.

_Oh…__**that.**_

"We can't," she shakes her head, eyes wide. Boy usually wanted this—it was only natural. What with their hormones and all! But for some reason she wasn't expecting HIM to suggest it. Visibly his shoulders drop, his eager smile becoming a look of disappointment. Tracks crosses her arms. "Are you insane?! We can't do that it's against contract!" Scout sneers at her.

"So?! What's the Admin gonna do, fire us? How will she find out anyway—she doesn't mind us dating, right?" his words were a matter of fact toned. Raising her hand she was about to retort, but she then stops to place a finger on her lip thoughtfully. It was true. She **didn't **seem to care so long as they did their jobs 110%.

"…fine," she glares to the side at the gleeful look plastered on his face. Shaking her head she covers her face with a lone palm. This was impossible—Tracks had just agreed to do that with the Scout. She wasn't quite sure how to do that. A tugging sensation forces her gaze, and she yelps at the sight of the Scout unbuckling her belt. In reflex she slaps his arm, the young lad jerking back and shaking the stinging sensation from his red wrist.

"OW! Why?!"

"HEY! I didn't give you permission dammit! Do I have to take my clothes off?!" The Scout raises a brow, his arm limp. "How else are we gonna do this?" He could only watch as she pondered shyly. It was true. Attempting it with clothes on would be difficult if this were to be their first time. Biting her lip hard she snaps her head to the side furiously. "F-Fine…but be gentle…" His soft chuckle forces her cheeks to burn red. Lips pressed against her cheek sweetly and she viciously rubs the fresh coat of saliva off. "Okay, I'll go first then kay?" he offers. Giving out a pleased sigh the Scout pulls away from her, allowing the girl to take his shirt off. The dry cloth peeled off with ease regardless of how disorganized her hands were. Tossing it to the side he proceeds to removing hers. For a moment she inches back, her body easing as he places reassuring kisses along the crook of her neck. A meek grunt vibrates in her throat when the frosty air nips at her exposed skin. Her tank top was wrapped up before discarded near his. Instantly she conceals her chest, her arms pressed firmly against the cups of her bra. Though he chuckled she continued to throw subtle complaints through the entirety of their stripping. Not once did the Tracker work—Scout had unbuckled her belt and pulled her bottoms off of her trembling hips. Legs cringe inward to hide her white underwear, her cheeks burning a bright pink much like his. In a fetal position she watched as he began to slip his bottoms off along with socks. Though his boxers were somewhat lose they weren't baggy enough to hide his erection.

The Scout's face burns harder—pitching a tent in front of her was beyond embarrassing. He was actually surprised at how far he had succeeded in going. Silently he remained kneeling before her, the bed creaking at every little movement they made. Scout nips his lip, his eyes darting from left to right. "So…" he rubs the back of his neck. It was obvious that he didn't know what to do next. But as he fumbles for the right words the Tracker's gaze had been glued to his torso. His clothing truly did make him look scrawnier than he was. Of course he was both the thinnest and youngest, but his body was very lean. Stiff muscles that fit the description of a runner's body; thighs and calf muscles that were strong enough to break a person's neck. His arms were by far the thinnest of his body, though they still possessed some muscle strong enough to maintain his own weight. A shaky sigh seethes through her slightly parted lips. She wondered if she looked that good. Calloused, wrapped hands touch her knees. Lightly he pulled her legs down, his eyes curious as to how she looked. But the Tracker jerks her legs back, her cheeks puffed from his eager antics.

"Hmph!"

"C'mon, babe! It's fine, let me see." Her legs were quite strong because the Scout had to struggle slightly to pull her from her fetal position. Shamefully she grabs his pillow and slams it over her face—no, why did he want to look?! "Wow," he breathed as he ran a trail lightly down her stomach with his finger. Soft skin blanketed over fit muscles beneath. A whine stifles against the cottoned pillow as he feet press against his stomach. Shakily she pushes him back but with no avail. The Scout grabs her shins, laughing at her sudden burst of self-consciousness. Spreading her legs open just enough he crawls in between them, pressing his weight ever so softly against her body.

"NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!"

"Quit your whinin'! You look fine," his toothy grin bites against the pillow to yank it off. Bangs flop into the air, twisting and standing messily against her teary face. The redness of her cheeks were so bright that not even a dark room was enough to conceal it. She waited for a kiss, as she always expected from him. But it never came. Instead he locks eyes with her, his mouth parting slightly as his hips buckled against hers. "Ahh…what are you," she gasps. Heat sparked in the pit of her gut as the Scout began to rub his hardening muscle along the rim of her panties. Shoulders quivered as he kept himself up, his weight making the bed creak with each motion. The Scout's hot breath blankets her neck, her eyes tearing slightly at the overwhelming sensation. At first it felt like nothing—at first it was as if he was just rubbing himself against her womanhood. But as the Scout grew more used to the motion he became more precise. The harder he grew the harder he pushed, and after some time Tracks's breaths grew slightly staggered. Her lungs labored for air as her gut swirled with mixed sensations. Butterflies, followed by what was almost like hot soup churned and tingled from her belly button all the way down to her thighs. Even her breasts felt a tickling touch against them. "I-I feel weird," she finally admits, the Scout gazing up at her with his striking blue eyes. Sweat rolled from the side of his forehead, a heatstroke waving over the entirety of his body. All he had to do was look at her and his mind was gone. For a moment he pauses, positioning his hips in just the right way. Straightening his erection out he presses the head against what he had suspected to be her entrance. Moisture coats his boxers as he slicks himself against her, sliding himself along the length of her concealed groin. "Ahh...ha, fuck," he moans, his muscles practically melting from the feel of her heat. Tracks jerks, her hands covering her flushed face as she gave out her first moan. "Hey, hey," the Scout's words were labored but soft, his hands taking a hold of her wrists. Exposing her face he presses her forehead against hers. The Tracker shakes her head madly. "N-No, don't look!"

"C'mon, I want to see you. This is perfect—just let me see you." Placing kisses he continues with his soft thrusts. Once again the room filled with his panting, her light moans hazing his mind. He didn't even need to rub against her. If he wanted to all he needed to hear was her voice. It was so sexual yet adorable that it could push him over the edge in mere minutes. "H-Haahh, aah…Scout…Scout!" his name flowed from her mouth, a small line of drool rolling from the corner of her mouth. Damn, she looked like she was in ecstasy and he hadn't even entered her yet. Hell, their undergarments were still on. "D-Does it feel good?" Scout had managed to speak, much to his surprise. Arching her head up she looks down, her pelvis following his new found rhythm. In all honesty the Scout wanted to go faster, but if he did he would reach orgasm much too soon for his liking. The Scout wanted this to last, even if that meant them fainting in the end. He wanted her to feel good and wanting more; wanted it to be fun. It was a hint his mother told him when he reached eighteen.

_Don't listen to what your brothers tell you honey. Girls want to have fun, especially during sex. _

Strands of his hair dangled slightly, tangling with her frayed bangs. "Huh?" he questions her again, ceasing his motion to poke against a particular spot repeatedly. It teased her, sending wave after wave of quivering rapture throughout her body. "Ah!" her voice hitches—how the hell was she supposed to talk? Tracks doubted she could even say her own name!

"Scout pressing tighter, his groin throbbing as it continued to grow. He had never felt his hard on grow so big in his life. "Does it feel good Tracks?" the button on his boxers popped open just enough to show some of him. With a flushed face she frantically nods, her hands eager to cover her face. He hushes her whimpers, his lips pressing against her cheeks. "Hey, don't be scared…"

"Feels…weird," her teeth bit her lip so hard her skin was about to burst. The Scout brushes her hair back, her panting only continuing from his pleasurable motions. "It's…normal. It feels good, right? You like it?" he couldn't fight back the nervous chuckles in his voice. Willingly she wraps her arms around her neck, her face digging into the crook of his neck as his fingers reached behind her slightly raised back. A light growl of disapproval vibrates into his collar. He groans in response, the sensation turning him on even more. Gritting his teeth he struggles with her bra. "Damn…thing, won't come off!" he hisses, completely flustered. Her light, mocking chuckles only made matters worse for him. Without hesitation he pulls against it, one of the clips snapping. Now he struggles with just one. Easily it unhooks, and he pulls it off of her. Eyes hungered to look at her nude chest, but instead the Tracker presses her breasts against the hardness of his chest.

"No…don't look." Gulping, he could feel her soft breasts beat against his sternum, pressing against his own. "…okay," he buries his face into her hair, his fingers tugging against the rim of her panties. Tracks stifles another growl.

"I…I gotta," he pants, his member twitching with anticipation. Scout needed this now. "B-But you'll get me pregnant…" The word was hard for her to speak—she never thought she'd ever say it. With wide eyes he shakes his head. Of course, how could he forget? Narrowing his eyes the Scout's shaky hands reach for his night stand. He pulls the drawer open, his fingers flicking the contents around impatiently. Shame pooled in his belly when he finally finds what he was searching for. Retracting his hand he places the edge of the packet between his sharp teeth and pulled the seal open. Tracks blinks curiously, her eyes locked to the small plastic ring that he pulled out. Their eyes widen at the sight.

A masked smiley face was printed on the condom.

"…what," Tracks could only stare at his gritting face. Digging his fingers into his hair he growls loudly. "Fuckin' Spy!" he sneers before flipping the packet over. It reads in words in plain sight, the letters written in permanent marker.

**_Good luck putting it on, petit lapin._**

Scout mumbles curses under his breath, his cheeks on fire as he fumbles with his member. It only angered him more seeing as to how he struggles to slide it on. It was his first time after all, but it still upset him more nonetheless. Tracks stifles a laugh, her shoulders shivering at how hilarious the situation had become. "…Do you need help?"

"No, I can do this myself!"

She giggles, "Okay~." Clenching his jaw he finally slides it on after a few tugs and pulls. When Spy had given him the condom the Sniper had proceeded to asking if it were too big, and that he might have needed a size small. Seeing as to how snug it fit Scout couldn't help but feel disturbed. Spy had one hell of a lucky guess, or he was a damn creep. Looking back up he locks eyes with the Tracker, his hands tugging against the rim of her panties. "…ready?"

"…yeah."


	19. The Running Daydream

Sex felt good.

"F….Faa….ah! Ahhhhahah!"

It felt **_real _**good.

**_Chapter 18_**

**_The Running Daydream_**

"T…Tracks…hah," the Scout couldn't control himself. He just had to moan. The woman beneath his thrusting form had thrown her head back, her brows furrowed. With struggling huffs and blush-stricken cheeks she bites down hard on her lip. "S-Scout…wait! I-It still hurts…ah!" Rubbing his lips together he struggles to slow down his pace. This was proving to be rather difficult when she digs her nails deep into his shoulder blades and drags long scratches against the length of his slick, sweat covered back. The Scout groans, his hips hungry for more. Even at his current pace he still didn't feel it was past enough. Dammit—he wanted to pound her senselessly.

"Please, slow down," her throat was hoarse. Did it really hurt that much? Just as she begged him he obliged, every request she made he would do without question. At this point he was like a slave to her every desire—it seemed to be the right thing to do, but once in a while he would throw in a little sass to get it his way as well. Gazing down he stares at how they connected. His enlarged member was actually within her; somehow it had managed to fit. In all honesty she was still so tight that it brought the Scout discomfort—he would cringe with every small twitch she made. Every move she did he could practically feel it as if they shared the same body. Either way this was blissful for him. Blood smeared along their thighs; his hips slightly drizzled with the rich wine-like fluid. Scout couldn't believe it.

He had taken her virginity.

A small smile crept up his cheeks at the thought, but her quivering body pulls him back to the heaven of a reality. With shivering hands the Tracker takes him by his shoulders, her lips pressed together. "S…slower," she mumbles, eyes watering. She was still embarrassed. Giving her a light nod he nips her lip, earning from her a subtle laugh. Burying his fingers within her hair he continues with his motions, only this time at a more reasonable pace. Pained breathes escape her pink lips, the Scouts tongue running along the delicate flesh in the hopes of distracting her from the temporary torture she had been enduring.

"Are you sure you…wanna keep going?" he managed to ask. Only an idiot wouldn't consider that. Something told him inside that she had never touched herself before, because even with his own fingers did she complain of a sharp tearing feeling. A shaky nod responds to him. "Y-Yeah…just make it go away…please," his saliva coated her lips. Gulping to himself he keeps with the small baby thrusts. Each poke he made she gives a small gasp, followed by a cringe. Scout had begun to wonder how long she would be in such a state.

"…have you ever touched yourself?" he dared to ask. Her body twitched as a response, her face becoming long and rather embarrassed. With practically white skin she darts her eyes to the side. "D…does it matter?" He was about to say no, but then he began to think to himself. It did matter. It mattered that he was practically the first person to make her feel good. He had beaten even her own self to this.

"It's okay if you don't wanna tell me," he chuckles, presses his lips against her forehead. The Tracker listens to his heavy breaths. They kept a constant rhythm, his chest pressed against her exposed breasts. "…no." The voice was barely audible. The Scout's heard practically skipped a beat from her answer.

No? Which meant he was the **_first_**.

Without hesitation he gives her a firm kiss. Their lips mended with one another, her yelp muffled. They stay like that for some time, his movements never changing. Over time the sharp, painful thrusts he gave became numb. A low, almost disappointed expression plasters onto her face as they continued kissing. Why was sex feeling so dull? Was it because it was her first time?

"…ahh," her breath hitches when his tiny movements sparked a small sensation. It was like a threat tearing ever so slightly. What was that just now? It felt good.

It felt really good.

"…harder," she had managed to break their lips apart just enough to beg. A spark of interest could be seen in his rich aqua eyes as he leans back to look at her. Taking her face he presses the tips of their noses together. The Tracker blinks, her cheeks burning from the look he was giving her. She would have looked away if it weren't for the strange gaze. It kept her frozen and on the spot—the young girl couldn't move a muscle.

"I'm gonna make you feel good, okay?"

Well, she wasn't expecting that. Lips parted with shock as she watches him adjust into a more comfortable position. Giving her one last look he places a wrap palm on her cheek. "You ready?

"…" Swallowing a lump in her throat she reluctantly nods. With a light smirk he snakes his palm downwards to her groin, his finger pressing against a rather sensitive area. "AHH!" The Tracker bit down on her finger, her eyes squeezed shut. What was the Scout doing to her? What was he touching?! "Ahhhh, d-don't…that feels…!"

"Don't be scared, okay?" his lips pressed against her hair. "Don't be scared. I'm with ya."

"B-But…ha…aaaaah…!"

Messily his fingers rub in circles. Still his hips wanted to practically attack the girl, but the Scout had an entire strategy planned out. He had intended to make her come first. Though he hated them to no end those sex talks with the Spy seemed to pay off. Without the older man's helpful facts they probably would have been done by now. And Tracks would have been extremely unsatisfied. The Scout panted through his parted lips, his breaths subconsciously keeping a similar pace as the Tracker. Her arms reach up, her palms pressing over her eyes. Panic welled in her chest, but she liked this panic. It felt addictive to have it.

"T…This feels…!" her words were practically whined out. Minutes had passed, and her moans gradually grew louder and louder. "Nnnn…AHH…T…THERE! Nnn…yes….Scout!" His ears perch at the sound. The Scout halts, his fingers drawing back. The young woman's moans subside into exasperated sighs, her lips dry and swollen. Whatever she had just felt, it was unbelievable.

It was as if she were on the verge of exploding.

"More," she mumbles rather ashamed of her request. But temptation was much too strong at the moment, so she could care less for pride. He snickers, his forehead pressing firmly against hers. That look was on his face again—teasing and alluring. Though he looked confident he was terrified on the inside. What if he hurt her? What then? "…you ready?" his voice was a mere whisper. Subconsciously she nods from his airy words, and his smile pulled up slightly. After a mere second he slowly pushes his length into her. Pupils grew as she tugs harshly against his hair, a pleased groan rumbling within his throat. Pressing her forehead against his she cringes—this wasn't pain, this was something else. It stretched and stung, yes, but the way he filled her was beyond satisfying. At this point the pain was durable.

It was almost too much for her to bear.

"There we go…I'm…all the way in," his lips shivered at the tight hold she had on his erection. Each labored huff made her insides squeeze against him. Scout grits his teeth, his body lusting to ravage her mindlessly. Just waiting there made him understand the phrase _having sex like wild animals_. Swallowing down a mouth full of drool he runs a tongue along her chin to her lips, swirling his muscle within her mouth as he began to move in and out. Deeper moans escape this time—louder and more full. His large hands grab onto her shoulders and squeezed, his hips grinding against hers as the two finally began to have real sex. This was so much—this was amazing. The way it felt completely blew her mind. The end of his shaft had been poking against a certain spot. Each small touch sent a wave of pleasure through her entire form. Nails dig into raw skin, tearing and opening the surface to let out small dabs of rich blood. The Scout growls, his lips pulling away. He runs his tongue along her shoulder, lapping up the sweat that built up within the cook of her neck. She tasted sweet.

Although this was her sweat he was drinking she had suddenly became sweet like sugar.

This was something he could never get enough of. "I love you," his grumbles as his sharp teeth dig into the flesh of her neck, biting down hard as he quickens his pace. Her moans would have become screams of ecstasy. In return she bites down into his should, her tongue licking and sucking against the area in the hopes of muffling her screams. His jaw releases her raw skin, teeth gritting painfully together. Legs wrap around his hips, her pace struggling to keep up with his wild thrusting. "Don't stop!"

That was no problem for him. Balling the bed covers within his dangerous grip he obliges. The bed shook under their weight, the mattress sliding back and force constantly with every jerk he made. "S-Scout…good! This feels so good!" her words vibrated along his lean shoulder, the taste of salt filling her dry mouth. His heart fluttered—it was working. He was making her feel like she was in complete heaven, and this was his first time ever pleasing a lady. Confidence boomed in his chest as he digs his nails into her hips, slamming her against his every movements. Cringing she could feel that feeling again clawing at her insides. Tracks could think or move. If she could even speak she would scream to him how much she loved him, and how amazing this all was. But all she could manage was a wild…

"**YES!** Oh, YES! YES!"

"Yeah….FUCK…AH!" Somehow he managed to bury his head within the crook of her neck, her mouth still attacking his reddened shoulder. Though it would hurt after all of this he couldn't feel it now—his heart raced so madly and his adrenaline rushed raster than any gunfire shed. Something happens suddenly; Tracks gasps as the good feeling rises tremendously. It bursts within her. Every muscle tenses and clamps down, gripping against the entity within her. He could feel this too—she was at her peak. Arching her back she presses herself against him, her head throwing back and smashing against the pillow underneath her head. "AAAAH!" All she could manage to speak through the long climax was his name, the rest of the sentence intangible. Several curses slither out from her shaking mouth, her toes and fingers becoming numb. The young man had wanted to give her a moments breather, but his hips couldn't stop moving. "Ahh…I…I'm gonna….shhhhit!" Taking her face in his she lets out a small yelp, her teary eyes wide with confusion and shock.

"Ehh?!"

"C-COMING….!" Slamming his face against hers the two lock within a fiery kiss, the young woman's pupils shrinking into mere dots. At that point he thrusts even harder inside of her, his hard cock throbbing viciously. In return she moans with him, and if she weren't so numb she would have felt her second climax even fuller like the first. Teeth bit down against her bottom lip, the Scout sucking onto the small wound he had just made upon her. He came—the hot sensation that overwhelmed his head had proven it.

"HA! Ah…ah…I love you…I love you," his words kept repeating as if it were part of a small chant. His body grows limp, the Scout pulling his face back just enough so he could flop his head upon her heaving chest. The two lay, panting harder than after any training they had experience. Silence overwhelms the room, only wild breaths lingering. For a moment they lay still, their minds struggling to retrieve themselves from the blissful cloud they were stuck in.

"…thank you."

His ears twitch, her voice reverberating from within her chest into his right lobe. He gulps, throat dry from all of the panting. "Huh?" he couldn't understand anything right now—he was just too happy. A cheesy smile had been spread across his face, a bright pink blush splattered on his cheeks. She, too, had a similar expression. "Don't let go.."

The Scout blinks. Arching his head upward he weakly raises his arm and pats her wet hair. "What if I gotta use the bathroom?" he manages to throw in some sarcasm. She chuckles, swiping his hand away to pull his face up. Soft lips clasp against his own before releasing their beloved hold on him. For him it ended much too soon and the Scout gives a small pout. "Can I get another?"

Snickers soothed his ears as he lays his head against her chest, his cheek nuzzling against the softness of her breast. Though she was admittedly uncomfortable she grew to like their position. A warming pulse coaxed her ears. Sleep was drawing closer, and the Scout happily accepted it. "I love you," his words her slurred. "I love you too ya dip."

_Scout…_

A flustered smile spread across his face, his hand resting against his gloved palm. The Scout sighed, eyes lost in a daydream. "Hmmm…?"

_I love you…_

The youngster continued to lean against his metal bat, his one foot resting as his entire weight had been in the other. His face bore pink, his blue eyes a misty haze. Giving out a small sigh he blinks slowly. Tracks was on his mind. Damn—that girl was dynamite.

_Scout….Scout…_

"SCOUT!"

His eyes widen, the gusts of wind pulls his attention. Bullet zoom passed him, missing by hairs. Fumbling to his feet the Scout snaps his head to the side. The Soldier had been screaming some intangible words to him—as always, he thought. But the entire situation seemed to be confusing. Damn, how long was he lost in his thoughts!?

"QUIT DILLY DALLYING YOU SON OF A GUN AND HELP THE HEAVY!" Frantically he jumps on his feet, his body waking up just enough for him to dart to the scene. "C-Calm down, I'll help ol' fat ass!" The boy leaps over bumps and flies through the air like a gazelle. Landing, a small cloud of dust overwhelms him. The boy had swung his bat to the side, his blow taking out an enemy BLU. Heavy had finally managed to reload his large weapon, his barrels roaring once again as ammunition feeds within it aimlessly.

"RUN, LEETLE MEN! SASHA WILL FIND YOU!" The Scout remains out of the man's way, the loud nose emitting from Sasha loud enough to deafen him permanently. With blue eyes he watched at how quickly the Heavy's supply ran dry. This wasn't going to cut it.

"Yo! We need a Dispenser over here!" That should do it. As always the sound of footsteps tapped by, and the clanking of metal and a tool box made the Scout sigh with relief. On the other side of the large road was the Engineer. "Erectin' one right now, partner!" Sweat tickled against his brow as the blazing sun heated over the vast city of Teufort. The rough bandages that wrapped around the Scout's thin wrists proved to be good when it came to wiping sweat from his eyes. Over time, however, they did tend to make his arms itchy. The endless supply of ammunition and health created the perfect shield for the Heavy, his reign of fire practically impassable. The Scout scoffs as he snorts a bit. "Chk…"

"You look rather bright."

"EH?!" Jumping on the spot he had rose his arms defensively, expecting an enemy Spy. Instead he saw the RED Spy, and the Scout couldn't help but glare. If only it was the BLU one—he seemed to be better news at the moment. "Oh, it's you."

"Were you expecting someone else?"

Pouting his lips the youngster swings his bat in hand freely, his mind at a constant motion. "Nah, not really. Jus' me and my bat. So, ready to bag n' tag these bunch of low lives?" A thick cloud of smoke concealed the Spy's head, his brow raised. Rolling the cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other his lips pull up rather unsatisfyingly. "Something…is different about you. Your mind is off somewhere else." Scout cringes at this. Too quickly his chest squeezed uncomfortably.

"Err, what's that supposed to mean?"

"…hmhmm, well, keep your head up petit lapin. You just might lose it daydreaming." That made the Scout angry. With one swift motion the Scout swung his fist towards the man only to miss by a landslide. His hand slams against the wooden surface of the building, and in mere seconds the Spy had cloaked himself away from sight. Scrunching his nose he snorts at the scent of tobacco, the smoke tickling at his nostrils. "Fuckin' prick!"

Quickly his form scurries away, trust bat raised over his head. A long sigh escapes the Tracker's lips as she leaned her head upon her palm. Pleasant smiles had been reappearing throughout the length of the day. Besides her the Sniper couldn't help but be distracted by her constant change in disposition. What exactly was she awing at? Curiously he speaks through his scope, his vision tinted through yellow aviators. The sight of the young Scout in the distance had made him nod. "...what's on yer mind, Shiela?" he brought himself up, already knowing the answer fully. Usually by now she would be defensive of his question, but instead she was leaning over the counter sluggishly. It was as if she were melting within herself, her gaze locked outside the window. "Nothin'."

_Nothing_. The older man simply shook his head, a chuckle daring to escape. Tracker gazes to him, seriousness playing her features. "…what?" she spoke sternly. Finally her usual self was back. The darts she glared gave the Sniper some comfort—he was starting to worry about the girl. "Yer thinkin' about that spook aren't ya?" His words took her by surprise.

"…is it that obvious?" she gulps, his nod causing her shoulders to drop. Cringing her face she gives him a defeated glace, her lips pulling up to blow her bangs away just enough to fully see him. Sniper turns fully to her now, his free arm tapping along his knees. "You were never this obsessed before."

"I'm not obsessed! I'm just…happy," she blinks once the right word pops into her head. A content smile spreads across her face, her body turning back towards the window as she returned to her tracking duties. "…very happy!"

"..." The Sniper couldn't help but stifle a chuckle. "Well I'll be," he grumbles to himself before looking down his sights. "The bloke did it. Didn't think he had it in him." The man takes a shot, the sound of a bloodcurdling scream following not long after. Cheeks burn from this statement, and the Tracker gulps. "You're not angry are you?"

The Sniper twitches—why would he be angry? "Me? Nah, I ain' angry Sheila. Jus' want you to be careful, you 'ear?" A small smile pulls against the Tracker's lips. The Aussie cared about her so much that he would go as far as to tell her such things. This wasn't the only time, and nor was it the Spy's when the Frenchman said how he'd kill the Scout if anything bad were to happen to her. Scrolling through the various settings of her binoculars she lets out a content sigh.

"Yes _daddy_."

"Yeah, well don' go sayin' that around the other blokes. Might get the wrong idea."


	20. Noncanon Halloween Special!

_Hitman White Presents_

**_FEAR FORTRESS!_**

**_A non-canon Halloween Special to keep you readers entertained while I suffer with exams!_**

Cold, freezing air.

Black, empty, lonesome darkness.

The flicker of the lone candle's flame.

The atmosphere was lingering even as the Tracker continued to rub her slim arms reassuringly. Goosebumps rose along her tender skin, the soft brown hairs raising on the back of her neck. Somewhere in the darkness a noise chips against the inside of her ears. Another shiver, this time more jittering than the last. She was getting nowhere. How long would this horror last?

"Freakin' power surge," Tracks grumbles, her heart pounding in her chest. Being alone in her room was starting to bother her. It had been hours since the crackle of a worn fuse clashed through every hall of the RED Base. How long exactly Tracks wasn't sure of that. Taking a moment she gazes about her room—darkness. The small flame tainted the walls and furniture a slight orange hue. A hard lump formed in her tight throat as her skin began to crawl. This was nerve racking. Her body twitched at the sound of a knock on the door.

"Tracka, 'ow you holdin' up Shiela?"

Placing the candle on the ground she takes her top and pulls it on, the wax stinging her knee as it drips upon her fair skin. "A-Alright! I'm fine, fuckin' **fantastic**," she grumbles with candle in hand. Carefully she approaches the door. She opens it just a slither, revealing even more darkness beyond its frame. Yellow shades reflect the lit flame, soft eyes behind them. The Sniper gave her a subtle smile before fumbling with his hat, a flashlight gripped in his strong palm. "It's pretty dark out 'ere, love. Doubt the power'll be back on anytime soon, so I got you a torch." Though she felt a fit itching to hatch the Tracker bites her tongue, her thin fingers taking the device reluctantly. The sound of a click could be heard when she places the candle atop the table to her right. This was usually her toss table, where she would toss her things after a long day. Her hair stood even more; eyes expressing a state of both discomfort and irritation.

"How long?" her words were on the verge of a whine. The Aussie pulls his lips up into a crook smile, his hands retrieving his own flashlight. "Not sure—maybe an hour, maybe a week. Good ol' Engie's checkin' on it. Doubt he'll have the right trinkets ta fix it." Carefully he backs away as she squeezes her form out. The man watches as her eyes grew wide, her door sealing shut behind her.

"What's wrong with it?" she was astonished. Surely there was nothing the Engineer can't fix. The Australian shrugs. "Not sure—was gonna go check with the rest. You can come along, Sheila. You looked spooked what with sittin' in the dark, no doubt." Slowly his smile grew teasingly as she huffs at his remark. Flicking his flashlight on it flashes into her face, a rough snort escaping her lips. "Agh! Watch it, an' I'm not scared! Geez, it's only a power outage." Without another word she shoves past her illegitimate father, shoulders squeezed inward and nose cringed.

The Sniper stares after her, light shining after. "You're comin' then?"

Tracks huffs, gazing over her shoulder. "Might as well."

"An' Scout?" She stops—how could she forget the Scout? An exasperated sigh escapes her lips. The Scout had been asleep this whole time, so waking him up would be a pain. She would have just entered via his window as usual, but it was ten at night. The pitch black desert, even though still easy to maneuver around, gave her the shivers. Nipping her lip the Tracker turns on her heel. "You go on, I'll get Scout okay?" The sound of his footsteps retreating became soft echoes within the darkness, and the Tracker waits until it feel completely silent. Once his light disappeared in the corner she flicks her flashlight on. A rather pleasant, bright stream of light basks the door before her. With a strong arm she knocks against the door. "…Scout?" she calls.

Silence. The tingling discomfort slowly returns to her. It was a nauseating sensation, birthing in the pit of her womb. If she were to stay in the darkness longer her mind would start to play tricks on her. She might start feeling fingers brushing her shoulders, or a wet breath tickling the back of her slender neck. A whisper, telling her devilish things, would slither into her ear and chuckle eerily within the pitch black hall. Then it would grab her—whatever **_it _**was. It would grab her and drag her away to eat her, rip her bones apart, feed upon her supple flesh, or perhaps even use her in the most sick and twisted ways. Any way to feed its unholy desires.

"S-SCOUT!" Once again the Tracker let her mind wander. At this point her heart was racing as sweat beaded upon her brow. A low, almost unearthly groan could be heard from the other side of the wooden obstacle. Tracks froze, her hands shivering slightly. What was that just now? Before she could even respond the handle begins to jingle, its copper tone shining against the florescent bulb of her electronic torch. As the lock undoes the door is pushed open, the pop of the swollen wood drumming in her ears. Cold air rushes out, a musky scent flowing not long after. Tracks presses her lips together, her eyes shivering. So much anticipation welled within her aching chest, but she hadn't the slightest clue why. For some reason this was scaring her all too much.

Finally a set of icy blue eyes could be seen shining within the lonesome darkness of the Scout's room. Sighing with relief Tracks gives out a sheepish chuckle. It was the Scout after all. "Ahh, damn. You sounded creepy a second ago," her cheeks flushed red. No response was earned, and Tracks couldn't help but raise a brow. Usually he would be complaining on how tired he was. But this time he wasn't.

This time he was just standing there, staring at her. "…you feelin' alright babe?" she questions her Scout, his eyes not even blinking once. Raising her flashlight she shines it just slightly upon his form. As usual he was shirtless, his body only adorning a pair of grey boxers. She couldn't conceal the jerk that her body made at the sight. Scout was pale—very pale. His body was coated in sweat, and his eyes beat with bloodshot capillaries. Tracks takes the door, opening it wider to take his sweat face within her palm. Though he was hunched over she still had to look up in order to see his face. "Oh god what's wrong with you? You look sick Scout." Worry tore at her chest. He just stared at her, lips parting as if he wanted to speak, but no words escaped them.

With one arm she wraps it around his waist, ushering him to the bed. "C'mon. You're better off in the bed." Sluggishly he follows, intangible words slurring from his dry lips. The mattress moans when he practically falls upon it, her arms positioning him comfortably. Seating herself beside him was a little difficult, his body so close to the edge. "Geez Scout, how long were you like this? You should have gotten me earlier," her voice was soft, her hand pressing against his forehead. Though he was sweating an ocean he still felt cold to the touch.

A shaky breath escapes his lips. "C…Cold…" he mumbles. _Cold_ she thought. Without taking her eyes off of him she pulls his covers over his form. His shivers were so subtle that she barely noticed them. Not once did he tear his gaze from her, his eyes almost piercing. Taking her fingers she brushes his messy, spiked locks. It was all so strange—it was as if he hadn't cared for himself in weeks. Just that morning he seemed fine. In fact he was rather excited of the power outage. The Scout took it as a better reason to sleep without disturb.

"Tracks…"

His hoarse voice pulled her from her thoughts, eyes shifting to his gaze. Pulling her lips up she gives him a soft smile. "The team's having a little meeting with Engie right now. I'll go see if the Medic's there, kay?" Managing a weak nod he stares after her standing form. Taking the flashlight she places it on the table, the metal form only inches away from the portrait of his mother. "It'll work as a lamp while I'm gone."

"NO." His sudden burst had made her jump, the photo falling on its back. Somehow through the darkness the Tracker managed to catch it. "Why…?"

"No light...no." His eyes had grown wide, almost glaring. "No light….hurts my eyes." Tracks gulps—that look he had didn't seem too sane. "Okay, okay. Let me just leave it here, alright? The least I need is me coming back and finding you face first on the ground." Tracks had managed to keep her voice from shaking, a light chuckle concealing her worry. Bending forward she places her lips upon his forehead, his stare still burning holes through her. The touch of his skin was almost like pressing her lips against a cool glass. Scout's breaths blanketed the Tracker's neck, his dry mouth parting. "…love you," he mumbles, her smile still firmly against his forehead. She hums, pulling away from him. Flipping the light off she inches around his room, no longer needing to look at the ground. She had been there so often that even the darkness couldn't make her falter.

If she hadn't retrieved her candle, Tracks would have never found her next destination. Even the unmistakable sound of bickering wouldn't be enough of an aid for her needing state. Pressing against a large metal door, it had already been removed from its security latch. Engineer no doubt—he must have left it open for anyone who needed access. Entering she could hear a mixture of different voices. Various accents overpowered over another; some angry, some calm. Finally she could spot the various lights flickering in the far corner of the room. Tall metal stands proved to be difficult to move around, the thick cords sprawled about the ground threatening to trip her in an instant. Biting her lip she feared she would have unplugged one, and her little knowledge of how everything worked would mean that she'd probably plug it in the wrong outlet.

"What do you suppose did it?" the Spy's voice brought some ease into her heart—maybe now she'd reach their location without any incidents. A tug sends her falling face first into the ground all too quickly, a scream escaping her lips just before the impact. The men turn, all lights shining upon the fallen form. "See? Tracka. Told you blokes she'd come."

"…hng." A gloved hand grabs her, pulling her up calmly. The Spy wraps her arm around her shoulders, keeping her close. "Did what?" she grumbles, dusting herself off. Wax taints her arms, the burning wearing off as it hardens upon her skin. With well-groomed nails she fondles with the unlit wick, the fall killing the flame moments before. Spy presses his lips together before flicking his flashlight off. He needn't waste the battery while the others were on.

Tilting his chin up the Tracker adjusts her gaze. "That," he grunts. The fuse box had been rather dented, each outlet burnt out and sparking dangerously. Her eyes widen at the sight. Engineer rubs against his ball head, his brain constantly trying to find a solution. "Well, Spy. I reckon it was-"

"Robots!" The group turns to gaze up the Soldier, his fists clenched before him. Someone had snorted at the suggestion. "Will ye give up on the robots, ye bastard!" Demo's patience was thin. "We're tryin' te find a cause not tell stupid fairy tales!"

"'nough of that. As I was sayin', I reckon it was caused by one bad hiccup," the Engineer ponders, but the men around him didn't seem all too convinced. Heavy pondered for a moment before finally speaking. "What cause big enough hiccup? Base is very big."

Engineer bites his lip in thought. "Well, usually a storm. Only other thing plausible for such a catastrophic level would most likely be a full supply o' bad wiring." Even the storm suggestion hadn't made any sense—rarely did it rain in the desert. The last time there was a thunderstorm was actually two months ago. Scratching her head the Tracker narrows her gaze tiringly. "A storm? C'mon Dell, it can't be a storm. What about the BLU Base?" she shrugs, body leaning against the Spy. Medic, whom had been casually pushing a nervous Pyro from his space, grunts. "Ja, I agree with Fraulein. Are ze BLU's also experiencing similar _difficulties_?" his words were rather irritated and exaggerating.

Shaking his head the Engineer only turned to face the fried mechanism, a flashlight in hand. "Nah. They got power—made sure to check an' everythin'. Mann Co. should be shippin' over new fuses after I send out a report in the mornin'. Until then, better start makin' good friends with yer flashlights." Various groans could be heard as the group dispersed, exiting the hottest room in the building.

To her side Tracks could hear the Demoman begin to speak, his flashlight against his face as he gives her a low and haunting gaze. "An' so begins the first night o' the curse of the REDs. Evil spirits, hungreh for the souls o' the livin' will begin ta FEAST upon the members one by one! Firs', startin' with the young an' lovely TRACKAH! MWWAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"

"What?! A curse?! Dammit, Merasmus! I knew foreclosing his house was gonna screw not just me but all of us over!"

Biting her lip the Tracker crosses her arms, whipping her head away from the two fools whom joked behind her. "Hmph, imbeciles," Spy's voice was low and tired. He had been missing precious sleep because of this mess. In all honesty he didn't view it as a serious issue. The man never feared much, especially the dark. Rolling his eyes downward he had noticed the discomforting look on Tracks's face. He raises a brow, taking a gloved hand and placing it on her shoulder. She jumps slightly, her eyes widening just a bit. A deep chuckle rolls from his throat as she sneers up at him. "Scared, mon petit?"

"No." Another chuckle. A light blush forms on her cheeks as she turns her head away once again. Once reaching the doorway she awaits the Medic, the Frenchman still accompanying her. With desperate hands the Tracker grabs onto the German's white lab coat, his glasses shifting slightly at the sudden impact. "Eh?"

"Doc, I need your help. Scout's sick…"

"Mein gott…"

Thumbs fumbled against the other as she had waited in silence. Taking her hand the Tracker places it upon the Scout's knee, his body growing someone colder from when she had last seen him. That was only thirty minutes ago, and now he was paler and more distant. Icy blue eyes slowly grew into a steal, crystal blue. His lips were an offset of grey. Watching, her eyes were fixated on the stethoscope pressed firmly against his slowly rising chest. Though she couldn't see the Medic's face she knew he must have been rather confused at the sight. He was fine that morning.

"Well…his lungs are clear. He ist just breathing slow," he grunts. Perhaps mainly to himself, because he hadn't even give neither the Tracker or Spy a look. Shoulders fell slightly—this wasn't good. The touch of the Spy's hand wrapping around hers brought her some comfort, enough to loosen her tense muscles. The man took this chance to fish for some answers.

"What is wrong with the Scout, doctor?" Spy dared to question the professional's knowledge. The Medic kneads his bottom lip with his pearly whites, his bare fingers pressing against the boy's neck. Scout gives out a dry gasp, his body cringing slightly at the contact. The man remained quiet as he took a note of the boys pulse. Another grunt, this time different from the last. The Medic's eyes widened slightly, his gaze rolling from side to side in an attempt of finding an answer.

Nothing had come to mind.

"Medic?" the Spy's voice asks. Taking in a sharp breath through his nose the Medic then rubs his lips together. "His pulse ist thirty or so beats per minute. Ze normal at resting is sixty to one hundred." Tracks hitches a breath, the masked man besides her noticing. "What are you saying Medic?"

Adjusting his glasses he chuckles in hopes of brightening the situation. "Vell, technically he ist supposed to be dead. ** But** remain calm, Fraulein! Herr Scout has been asleep for most of ze day, so I vouldn't let it vorry you." Struggling to gulp the lump in her throat she shifts her gaze to the Scout, his eyes locked onto hers. Strange, he had been staring at her this whole time.

"It ist late. He needs rest. I vill check on him first zing tomorrow morning. Until zen, **you **need to rest. In _your _room. Do you understand?" Hesitantly she nods, the Spy aiding her up. "Come, mon petit."

With no power running through the building, the shower Tracks just had was ice cold. Wet hair stuck to her face, the cold midnight desert temperatures creeping through her window. The crackling of the candle was a well-known noise to her. Not having hers lit seemed to have been rather bothersome. The single flashlight facing her ceiling illuminated the air around her. Dust particles flew through the air, drifting aimlessly with no set course—much like her mind. If Medic hadn't put a limitation on her then she would have been with the Scout. Something told her she was better off staying within her own room, however. Perhaps she would have kept him up all night. Gripping onto her covers she squeezes her eyes shut, eyes growing dry and tired. What time had it been? She hopped into the shower at three or so. Tears welled up—tears of exhaustion, mostly. Her wet scalp caused her to shiver slightly, her pillow becoming moist. "Hng…"

A dragging, gritty sound tickled the lobes of her ears. Eyes shot open, her brown orbs scanning the room quickly. What was that noise? Rolling her head to the side she spots her candle, now lit. "…" Her body jerks up, eyes growing wide with shock. A cold shiver streamed through her veins at the sight, her lips pressing together. Shaky breathes filled her lungs as she slowly shifts her weight, her bed moaning under her. Tracks freezes, her eyes grower wider. If she hadn't been biting her tongue she would have whimpered. Another sound to her right makes her gasp, her hands messily grabbing her flashlight and flashing it back on. "?!" The corner of her room was empty. Her teeth bite down against her tongue, nipping against the soft muscles until it practically bled. Exhaling she slowly turns back forward, flashlight shakily in her grasp. Scared—she was scared. Tracks was afraid.

Viciously she shook her head. What the hell was there to be afraid of?! The young lady lets out a laugh, her eyes rolling to the side. A face was near hers, staring blankly. "AHH?!" Tracks squeals, her body rolling back and nearly off the bed. Somewhere her flashlight flew, the impact of its landing so hard it flickers off. Glass cracked and scattered across the ground, her eyes squeezing shut as she retreated beneath the false safety of her pillow. After several seconds a cold hand touched her shoulder. Tracks whimpers, her face burying deeper into her mattress.

"Tracks," a familiar voice spoke. Eyes fluttered open at the sound. Reluctantly she sits up, her pillow falling to the side. "…Scout?" He had been kneeling upon the ground, face pale, eyes puffed with tiredness. The candle was resting on his hand casually, her grip tired and unsteady. Reaching up she rubs her red eye. "Holy shit, you scared the hell outta me! What's wrong with you!? How did you get in here?" She could have sworn her door was locked…

"I'm hungry…" he mumbles, hand reaching for hers. Cold, blue tipped fingers wrap around hers. She grunts, eyes rolling. "That doesn't answer my second question. And what do I look like, a fridge?" But the boy had yanked her forward, her lips parting when she had been tangled into his arms. Her head had been mere inches from slamming against the rugged ground. Blinking, she gazes into his stern eyes, stomach churning with a sudden discomfort. "W…What are trying to do, bust my head open?" she sneers, voice breaking slightly. "You'll make me sick, let go!"

"I'm hungry."

Her eyes widen. "…what?"

"I'm _hungry_…" Her lips quivered as the runs his tongue along his dry lips, the appendage only inches from her own. Once again she lets out a shaky breath as she attempts to lean away from him, but the Scout only followed after. "S-Scout, stop. You're scaring me…" A whimper escapes her lip when a warm tongue laps against her neck, dragging along the length of her neck. Wet, hot, sticky saliva coats her skin. Sharp teeth graze along her neck, sending shivers down her spine. "Ahh…wha…"

Her mind raced on what the sensation was. The sharpness beat the Spy's finest knife. Blood seeps through the shallow cuts, the Scout's tongue lapping up the delicate fluid feverishly. Arms shook—she wanted to push him off but didn't have the strength to do so. Why? What the hell was happening to her? It was as if she didn't want to move.

"I knew you'd taste good…" Rolling her eyes down she watches as he sucked against the opening in her skin, wanting more of the liquid that held her very life intact. "Scout…stop…get off...y-you're sick!" Thin fingers press against her finger, shushing her. A hiss escapes his lips, blood coating the edges of his mouth. He runs a tongue along her lips. "Don't you want me to feel better?"

"I…It's not.."

A long chuckle tore through her very mind as fingers began to unbutton her pants.

**_"AUGH?! STOP! STOP, HALT! REFRAIN!" _**

The group stop, eyes flashing towards the angered Tracker. With hair practically standing she growls to the Demoman, her flashlight waving about as her temper was at it's peak. "Shut your mouth! How is this supposed to be scary anyway?!"

A grunt escapes the Demoman's lips. "Oye, I ain' done lass! If yer scared then hold yer boyfriends bloody hand!"

Several laughs flow through the dark room, the Tracker crossing her arms in frustration. "It's not that—this story is disgusting. Why am I a complete and utter **idiot **in it anyway?"

"Yeah, and why did ya make me a vampire? Can't I be a werewolf er something cooler?" the Scout grunts, his form sitting comfortably behind the Tracker. He sneers as the Demo continues with his laughing, her bottom firmly upon her boyfriend's lap. "Figures—I knew Heavy should have had chance to a story, not you. Even Soldier could tell a better one, even if it **is **about robots **again**."

Before the Demoman could even continue Spy stands, a cigarette and flashlight in his grasp. "Well, gentlemen, lady—I feel it is best that I retreat back to my quarters. It is late, there is no power, and I am certainly not one for _campfire stories_."

"Roight, I'm with Spoi on that one. G'night mates, Tracka." Slowly each teammate stood and began leaving to their respectful rooms. The Scotsman curses after them, insistent on having at least one person listening until the end of his story. A wrapped hand touches Tracks's shoulder, earning her attention. "Ya ready to hit the hay? You can sleep in my room tonight."

Tracks raises a brow, sleepiness evident in her eyes. She would have said no, but there was one thing true about the Demoman's story. She really was afraid of the dark. "Sure, but no candles," she chuckles, teasingly rubbing his chin. As they stood the Scotsman shakes his head, several other members attempting to push past him. "This isn' a story! It's real! There's a curse goin' about in the base, I can feel it in me BONES! Don' go sharin' rooms! Lock yer doors, load yer guns! There is a curse here, ye bastards! The power wos set off for a reason! Are ye all dumber than bats?!"

Wrapping his arms around her the two ventured into the darkness of the halls, taking each step by memory. The single ray from her flashlight only showed them a good five feet or so of space, the brightness beginning to fade signifying worn batteries. It only took them a tad bit more time to reach their rooms, the Scout opening the door with ease and allowing the two to step in. "How long do you think it'll be like this?" Scout closes the door behind him, the Tracker lighting her way to ensure she doesn't trip over anything. "Don't know, don't care. Ain't a big deal to me—my shack in Detroit never had power." Finally she reaches the bed, her shoes already kicked off and lost into one of the various mounds of clothes. Upon reaching the bed she plants herself upon it. Struggling to remove her bottoms she feels cold hands tug at her ankles. "AH!?" Kicking on reflex the Scout catches her, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. "Asshole! Your hands are cold, geez," she scowls, watches as he pulls her pants off with ease. Pulling his shirt off he crawls after. Hands push her down against the mattress, her eyes growing wide with shock. "Hmm?"

"I thought we'd never be alone…"

Tracks lets out a playful laugh as the Scout gives her a quick peck. "Sooo, sleeping time right?" Lips pressed firmly against the crook of her neck, a tongue rolling and massaging the area. A string of laughter escapes her lips, the sensation ticklish. "S-Stop! That tickles!" she wraps her legs around him, struggling to flip them around. "You never said we're doing this you sicko!" her laughs grew stronger. Strong hands grip onto her arms, pressing down mercilessly. His sore touch began to form dark bruises, the Tracker wincing from the sudden vulgarity. She fumbles, attempting to push him off. "Geez, you're being rough aren't ya?" No response—the long tongue continues to drag along sensitive skin to the lobe of her ear. Dull nails grit her light skin, forming red bumps and irritating marks as her smile faded. The Tracker grits her teeth, her brows furrowing. "Ow, damn that hurts. What are you, a bear or something?" Before she could take advantage of the situation the Scout had practically bounced on top of her, putting his entire weight on her body. Struggling to breath, her diaphragm was pressed under his sheer weight. "Ahh…g-get off! Can't…breath...fat ass! You're creepin' me out, c'mon!" But something different blossomed in her neck.

Pain. A sharp, stinging pain.

"Ahh…oww!" For a moment she felt the sensation grow. It was like needles dragging in and out, but almost numbingly. Pulling away she stares at the Scout, a taint of wine red drizzled upon his lips. His long tongue ran along his lips, lapping up the precious blood. Wait, he was eating…blood.

Her blood.

"…you bit me!" she snaps, fists balling and pounding against his shoulders. Bandaged palms catch the small arms with ease before locking them above her head forcefully. Shaking her head side to side, Tracks continues to bash him with her own body. His long chuckle had only fueled her rage more. "Let go! Jesus, you're takin' that vampire story way too serious. I'm going to my room."

"**_No_**." She froze. His voice—it was husky and eerie. Narrowing her eye the Tracker's breath pauses when he inches his face closer to hers. Those eyes—they were so hard to turn away from. "D…Don't. Let me go, unless that is you want me to call Snipes." That made him laugh all the more. For some reason the Tracker felt helpless, her joints locking and jaw tensing. What the hell was going on right now? With stiff legs she manages to slide back, but somehow she completely forgot about the bedframe behind her. A hard plank of wood bonks against the back of her skull, her eyes not once leaving his. "You _scared_?"

Tracks was trapped.

"N-No…C…C'mon babe, let me go? Please?" her small laugh was pathetic. Anxiety welled up in her chest, and damn was it obvious to the sight. The grin that plastered on his face crept up even larger, and his fingers traveled along the length of her thin neck. Blood smeared on the tip of his extremities. Pulling his hand back he sticks the blood-coated finger into his mouth, sucking against it hungrily. Not once did he look away from her. Terrified—she looked terrified. "Taste," he pulls his finger out, dragging the saliva coated tip against her lips. "W-Wha?" Easily he pries them open, regardless of her struggling, and slips both his index and middle fingers into the warmth of her mouth. They pinch her tongue, the salty and thick texture coating her teeth. Gagging, Tracks tries to turn her head away. After some time Scout pulls his fingers free, earning a gasp for air from his beloved.

Cheeks flustered, her breaths heavy and nearly labored. The boy practically gagged her with his hand. "Q…Quit it, you're scaring me," she found herself begging him. This was a game; this was some sick game that the Demoman tricked him into playing a part of. Yes—that was the only option. Opening his mouth he closes the space between them, biting her bottom lip mercilessly. Teeth pierced down with ease, and she yelps at the sudden pain. Blood dripped down her chin, pooling within her cleavage. "Don't be such a dip," his words made her confused. Playing with her lip he continues to elaborate. "Turning the power out was a pain—I wasn't expecting a freakin' campout…but now that I have you I'm realizing how much it was worth it…" his words were beginning to sound rather slurred. A tingling trail followed behind the Scout's cold touch, his finger dragging against her skin as he rolls her top up. "I just love seeing you like this…how you **_shiver _**in the dark." Light gasps escapes Tracks's lips when he finally releases his grip on her helpless mouth, her eyes growing wide when he leans over to lick her stomach, teeth grazing along her flesh. "It _turns_ me **_on_**…" his breaths were sharp hisses. Soft, young, quivering skin teased his taste buds with every lap, his sharp fangs nipping and drawing beads of blood. Sweet.

She tasted sweet.

A pain spikes in his stomach—he was hungry. The Scout wanted more of it. Crawling up he plants a soft kiss upon her forehead, driving her deeper into a strange madness. It felt good. The way his teeth sunk into her flesh felt so good to her, but she didn't know why. Fighting back the pleasurable noises she bites down on her already swollen lip, more blood seeping out from the fresh wound. Snickering against her lips he slides his tongue into her mouth, tasting every inch of her. Tracker's throat tightens when she tastes an irony, salty flavor in his tongue. All the while hands glide across her skin, teasing her rim of her panties. "Y…You're sick. I-I'll go get the Medic, jus' let me go alright?" she had somehow managed to turn her head away. The most Tracks could succeed in doing was tensing her muscles. Licking his teeth the Scout moves up to her chest, cleaning off her skin and sucking against rich blood stains on her top. Squeezing her eyes shut she was determined to not look at him. Somehow in doing so she could feel her arm beginning to regain control. Jerking it up she clasps a palm over his shoulder, pushing him with all the force she could muster.

"Shhh…relax, darlin'. I don't need Doc. I'm fine now that we're together…"

"F-Fine! Then I'll go get Demo, he seems to know a shit ton about stuff!" Eager, struggling groans rolled from her throat when he takes her hand in his. Once again he places it back above her head, her eyes refusing to open. "Look at me," she heard him. After refusing she could sense his cold touch sneaking beneath her undergarments, teasing her groin subtly. Tracks gasps, her head jerking to the side. Her head was spinning for some reason. If she could she'd kick him right in the head.

"_Look at me_…" That was it. Hesitantly she opens her eyes to see the shining blue irises. Fingers knead into her, a weak moan escaping her lips when he pulls her face towards his once more. Brushing their lips together the Scout chuckles darkly, his tongue dragging along long and glistening fangs. "Awe Tracks…you're so cute when you're helpless. I just couldn't resist putting out all the lights…" he pinches a certain spot, earning another shivered moan from her. His icy thumbs whip away the tears that rolled down her face.

"Now that I have you all for myself, I'm going to make you feel **_good_**." Heatless digits press further, and the Scout snickers as Tracks throws her head back, crying helplessly beneath his dominating form. "A-Ahh, you really don't need to! C-Can't I just sleep in my room tonight…_ahh,_" her voice grew meek as dizziness blanketed over her. Another hush, lips pressing against the shell of her ear. His words slither inward, the sound of his very voice pulling her deeper into his temptation more so than his touches. "Give in to me, Tracks. I know you want it...I can feel how hot you're getting…" Sharp teeth dig into her neck, tearing through her skin and piercing into her vulnerable veins. A moan, soft and airy, escapes her dry lips,

"**_You can't say no_**…"

* * *

_Hope you all enjoyed my little __**"late" **__Halloween special! Sorry for a very late chapter, but I assure you all it's coming soon! I figured this would be fun to write, especially since I kept you all waiting for too long! A good friend of mine is dying to see an end to this, though I doubt you all would want one. So instead of wasting your time, here's a fun poll for you all to ponder on! _

_Happy __**LATE**__ Halloween everybody! ~H.W.!_

Ooo, a _Vampire Scout! Such a handsome, undead face. What would you rather see Tracks do?_

_**A)**__ Stake him through the heart, die you monster DIE!_

_**B)**__ Kick him in the face, good ol' Tracker trademark!_

_**C)**__ Get off, OFF! Bad, you son of a *****! You...*bangs him*_

_**D)**__ SNIPES, SPY, SOMEBODY...HELP...RAPE! AHHH!_


	21. The Running Subduction

The two had to be honest.

They liked sex.

_"C'mon Tracks! Hold still!" _

_"Ahaha! No! Make me!"_

Never had the two expected something so _average _and _natural _to be invigorating. It never seemed to have gotten old. In fact, they had completely forgotten about baseball for the entirety of the week because of it.

_"Wait—what are you…?"_

_"Shush fatty. Lemme be on top this time."_

_"…okay."_

At one point the Scout felt rather guilty. Perhaps he had been forcing her into it? Maybe Tracks didn't want it as much as he did? Though he was demanding by nature and rather spoiled the least he wanted to be was a forcer. Taking a good portion of the day to think he had come up with a rather solid decision. Perhaps it was best to backtrack and go back to an old habit they had—sports.

"Yo, Tracks!" Dusty, gritty leather rubs against the Scout's thick palms. It had been five days since he touched his beloved baseball. This item was always important, but ever since the Tracker had used it its overall sentimental value seemed to have increased. He had been searching for the Tracker for some time now. The young woman had exited the comfortable atmosphere of the recreational room. Her hand waved to someone.

"Au revior."

The Scout raises a brow—that sounded like Frenchie. Sure enough the smell of burning tobacco filled the air around them. Curiosity rose. He wanted to know what they were speaking of. Surely it had to do with the two of them. Helpful tips on how to get on the Scout's nerves no doubt. Shaking his head he attempts to clear his mind. "You wanna play ball?" he throws her a sideways grin, her body twitching. A light chuckle escapes his lips. She hadn't been expecting him. Approaching her he gives her a small peck. "I'm itchin' to get my heart pumpin'." Frowning she snorts at his statement. "You kiddin'? It's raining outside, Scout."

"So? When does a little rain stop us—that is unless you're scared you'll catch a cold. Daw, my poor Tracks," he pinches her cheek slightly, a hot blush spreading beneath his finger. Flicking his palm to the side she presses a finger against his lips. Finally his bickering had earned him a small smile from her. "Fine, shesh. Quit touchin' me!"

**_Chapter 19_**

**_The Running Subduction_**

Slippery fingers weren't strong enough to catch the slick surface of the sphere. A scream of laugher escapes the Tracker's lips as she skids against the ground, the Scout pouncing right after her. Brown clay mixes with water, coating their skins. Clawing the ground the Tracker attempts to crawl away, but the young man's grip was strong. "OFF!"

"Hell nah, I won!"

"NO…NOT….FAIR!" She missed this—even though it's only been a few days she really did long for it again. Running and playing baseball was refreshing. Later she would call the twerp and tell him that she played it again. After that she would listen to him tease and mock her for a good hour or so, followed by his playful remarks on how the Scout was her boyfriend.

Somehow she had managed to pull herself onto her feet and race away, her steps messy and slippery. A loud string of laughter escapes her lips as the Scout jumps after her. Neither two noticed the men watching them through a RED base window.

"They look like two joeys runnin'."

"Perfect, are they not?" Sniper raises a brow at the man. "So…what'd you talk to Tracka about, mate?" The Spy's long chuckle made the Aussie grunt, his eyes narrowing. Swallowing a lump in his throat his shrugs his shoulders, crossing his arms not long after. "Alright—spit it out."

"Oh, nothing. Just had a little talk. The girl is young, and so is he. They need all the guidance they can manage." A true statement. Sniper, with a strong grip, tilts his hat over his face and sighs casually. The weather had been extremely relaxing that he could fall asleep. Only the Spy's words kept him from his much wanted slumber. "Do you suppose they'll stay this way?"

"Not sure. Relationships ain' no different from day an' night. I'm thinkin' they could last if they put their heads on it. But it's hard—reason why I never found a Sheila for myself."

A hum escapes the Spy's sealed lips. When it came to the romantic part of things he had almost forgotten how dull the Sniper could truly be. Compassion wasn't really part of the Australian's style. The chiseled man was most accustomed to the more practical things in life; or in this case a relationship. Things like how to settle a fight or how to keep a situation stabilized. But even then the Sniper was set in isolation for most of his life that company alone was near foreign. How could he even imagine giving anyone advice on a relationship. But the Spy knew, which was why he had choose him to side with in terms of assisting the two lovebirds. As cold and reckless as the man could be, he really did have a strange and trusting charm about him.

"Well. When the first struggle comes the question is do we help or let it solve on its own."

"If it solves mate. _If _it solves." Spy chuckles once again at the Sniper's statement. "If is an assumption of the future, therefore it may not happen," he turns towards the door, finally tearing his gaze away from the two outside. Sniper rolls his eyes—the Frenchman's technicalities were always irritating to follow. But the small speckle of hope that the Spy wore for the younger mercenaries was something Sniper shared likewise. Before their conversation could grow further the Sniper glances towards the clock.

18:00.

As the ten members began to settle in they patiently, like always, awaited for dinner. Two hours was no trouble for them. Occasionally a stomach growled, but the hunger was easily pacified by a glass of lukewarm water, or perhaps an ice cold beer. Scout would have taken a good bottle of Red Shed himself, but all that was available was Old Geezer. That was the Sniper's beer, and even if he let the rowdy Scout have a gander at one the boy abruptly refused. The sound of it was just too unappealing. Biting his tongue the Scout grumbles under his breath. His feet hammered the ground impatiently as his dear Tracker sat on the cushioned seat beside him. Her eyes were glued patiently upon the book within her lap. With blue eyes he pondered upon the title once again curiously—the man had forgotten the title already.

_The Count of Monte Cristo._

Raising his brow he leans over, his head only mere inches from hers. Tracks hadn't budged as she continued to become entranced within the rather boring looking novel. "Where'd you get that?"

"Spy let me borrow it."

"Pfft, another one? I don't see how ya can finish this stuff so fast. I mean look at it—the cover alone is freakin' boring." Taking a side in his palm he attempts to bend it over, his eyes narrowing at the image of a rather old looking man printed on the front. He sucks his teeth; yet, it looked boring as hell. Swiftly it was yanked from his grasp, eyes his growing large with curiosity. "It's not boring. It's a satire, about revenge."

"In other words boring," his words followed just as he pulled the book from her loose grasp. A blush spreads over the Tracker's cheeks, her eyes glaring to the Scout. A laugh escapes his grinning lips when she sneers at him. Practically sprawled on his lap she struggles to retrieve the text. "Hey, give it here!"

"If ya give me a kiss!"

"Scout, c'mon!" he had succeeded in pulling a laugh from her. But before the youngster could earn his much wanted smooch three light knocks had brought them to a silence. The both looked in unison as the door slowly opened to reveal none other than Miss Pauling. Such a lovely woman—her soft nature had brought both mercenaries a sudden sense of peace and comfort. "Good evening," she greets with a welcoming smile, and the two had adjusted themselves into more appropriate positions. As her heels clacked the Scout shuts the novel, his body melting against the chair. "Yo, what up Miss Paulin'?"

It was such a great relief that he had someone to become loyal to now. Lately she never needed to worry about the Scout's constant bantering and persistent attempts of asking her on a date. Instead he greeted her kindly, like all of the other mercenaries, and granted her a comforting space. She smiles warmer now, her clipboard in hand. "Scout, the Administrator would like to speak with you in private."

That was a first.

Eyes widened, a ball forming within the Scout's throat. "M-Me?" His sudden tension hadn't gone unnoticed by either of the women. Pink lips perked up warmly as they pressed against his now blushing cheek. "What? You scared?"

"Wha? Nah! I ain't scared, shit." Strong legs pulled himself up to his feet with a single leap. Stretching out his arms he bends over, grabbing the Tracker's face and giving her a firm kiss. He chuckled through her tired grunt, her eyes narrowing with irritation. Miss Pauling only giggled at the sight, making Tracks even more embarrassed. Finally he pulled away, and she proceeded to wiping her face off with her wrist. "Get outta here will ya?" her words only made him grin the more. Taking a step out he turns back, waiting to be ushered by the Administrator's faithful assistant.

The walk wasn't awkward like before. The two had a comfortable exchange of words, and soon a small conversation arose. "You seem happy."

"Hmm? Me? Ehh, I try."

A small laugh escapes Miss Pauling's lips. "Well, you must be doing it right. She seems happy too."

"Really?" The sudden glimmer of hope within his eyes had made the young lady snicker even more. A rather flushed smile spreads over his face. "Ya know Miss Paulin', if I had to pick out the greatest thing that ever happen to me, other than meetin' you, it would be Tracks."

This was just too adorable, she thought. Regardless of the suck up he had just managed to squeeze in. In fact, something like this was just so unexpected. Perhaps this was the reason as to why many of the members treasured the thought of those two more. "Well, here we are." Pushing the door to the meeting room open, the Scout took casual steps in. Clicking his tongue he stared at the black screen of the small television set just up ahead. "…sooo, what does she wanna talk about again?"

"I'm actually not sure," Miss Pauling shuts the door behind her. The suction it made rang in his ears suddenly. What?

Miss Pauling didn't know _why_?

But before he could even question this the television flashes. White noise fills the room for several seconds before the signal could be reached. That sickening silhouette of the menacing woman sent a shiver up his long spine. Daring to even take a gulp he steps forward, his shoulders bouncing in the heat of the moment. "Err…what's up boss?"

"Spare the salutations. I'll make this short and sweet." Growing still the Scout swallows a mouth full of saliva, his eyes not even blinking. As her imagine began to light a fresh cigarette he could have sworn he could smell the stale tobacco on dry cleaned fabric, and the sting of harsh smoke when it flew from her flared nostrils. For a moment she looked as if she were pondering something, but then she locks frightening eyes with his.

"Your performance has surprisingly increased in the last several months."

A compliment? Scout hadn't been expecting this. Tensing his jaw he rolls his eyes to the side subtly. "Well, yeah! I always-"

"I'm not finished." Biting his cheek the boy felt sweat building up. Peaking over the corner of his eye he couldn't help but plea towards Miss Pauling. Though she usually knew well of the Administrator's intentions her eyes seemed to have been filled with a sense of unsureness. That only made the Scout panic worse.

"You are rather tamed…" Rolling her eyes up she lowers her voice slightly. "Are you two intimate?"

His heart cringed at this—what did she just asked him? Opening his mouth he intend to protest, but all that could come out was…

"Dahh…ahhh…w-what?"

Damn, he felt stupid. Clenching his fists he bit down against his tongue now. Lucky for him he hadn't been blushing with humiliation, but the way his eyes flinched from side to side gave him away. A strange noise erupted from the woman's throat, but regardless she continued with the same tone from before. "…I understand your situation. You are young, and so is she. I knew something like this might have happened when I allowed a woman to join either team."

Dryness tore apart his throat as it began to swell. What was this woman getting at?

"The RED has been performing so well now, I'm actually surprised at how well my strategy unraveled."

"What's the point to this?" Finally his brows had furrowed, and the look on the Administrator's face showed that she hadn't been expecting him to talk a word. Suddenly, a long and slow laugh. It was almost agonizing to the ears, but the Scout had kept his form strong. "Oh, a point…shrewd, but true. Fine then, I'll cut to the chase." Long, sickening fingers played with the rolled piece of tobacco thoughtfully.

"Seeing as to how your team has reached an admissible goal there is no need for a tenth member. The scores are even—there is a perfect sense of equilibrium. Within the next three months your team will succeed over the other, and I will have to act in evening the scales again. A simple fix mind you."

A flicker glazed over his now widened eyes. "What are you sayin'?"

"A transfer, Mr. Scout. I am pondering about a transfer." His heart pulls once again, the strings nearly snapping apart from how hard the muscle began to beat. "No."

Her brow rose. "Hmm, I wasn't expecting you to understand so quickly. Alas, this isn't a proposition. This is me simply giving you a head start in preparations with…what is it you young ones call it? A break up?" Gradually he began to bore teeth, and Miss Pauling bit her bottom lip.

"I said…no."

The woman's laugh only infuriated him more. "I hadn't expected more or less from you. The youth are always blinded by such trivial things." Lips pursed as smoke seethed between them. "Don't look so hostile. You should know that you hadn't a choice in the matter. I simply though this would be much easier than having to subdue the two of you by force. Either way you are equally expendable. Rehiring is just such a hassle nowadays, what with the regulations, inspections and all sorts like them…"

Knuckles cracked as he attempted to bind his rage aside, having almost no success. "You…fuckin' hag!"

"My, what a mouth you have. If you had earned a care from me I would have informed you of losing it just now." Pressing her cigarette down, he could hear the faint buzz of the hissing ash against cool metal. "In three months she will be gone to the BLUs, just to level the sides a tad. After, she will be relieved of her duties." The Scout grits his teeth—relieved? Usually when people were relieved they were never heard from again. What happens to them after no one had the slightest clue. Thoughts spiraled within the youngster's head. What would happen to her if that was the case? She could have her memories erased, or she could have been returned back to Detroit in that shitty shack or hers. Or worse, she could be killed.

"You can't make me do this." The boy was desperate, and that only amused the Administrator even more. "On the contrary, Mr. Scout, I can. All I have to do is force her out of your life within this very moment, and I have no trouble in doing so. I have various alternatives."

Miss Pauling watched as his shoulders began to fall. Crumbling—his hope was crumbling slowly. There was no way out, no way out at all. And the woman couldn't help but stare helplessly at him, her stomach turning at how sudden all of this was. Was there anything she could do to change the Administrator's mind? Blue eyes rolled up, glaring darkly at the woman in the screen. But no words followed, only a desolate stare. "…you bitch."

"Good boy. I knew you'd be obedient. Try not to look so angry now. The Tracker isn't aware of this yet, and I don't intend for her to be so until I complete the preparations for her transfer. I insist, however, that you start your side of the job as soon as possible. It's only fair. Just imagine how troubled she will be. Surely you'll grant her some time to **_cope_**."

Muscles tensed so hard that his jaw shivered. "…please." Begging—the Scout was begging. How pathetic could he get? But he couldn't help it. He didn't want to do this. There had to be another way. The thought of being separating from her killed him, and the fact that she would be gone forever. And worse, she would be in the BLU team, with the _other _men. His very bones shivered at the thought. She would be in a new environment, without him, and he would be **fighting **her. **Killing **her. And either end would struggle with the fact. The only response he received was a dark laugh, and that alone was a sure answer.

Blood filled his mouth—he had bitten down so hard it had broken skin. The moment the word _dismissed _was spoken he turned instantly, storming out of the room angrily. He hadn't even noticed Miss Pauling call after him. This was shit, this was complete and utter shit. He couldn't accept this—he wouldn't do it!

"…fuck." Warm liquid rolled from his eyes as he reached one of the deadest portions of the base. He was surely alone right now, and Miss Pauling couldn't follow his path. His walking speed alone was hard to keep up with, and the woman was wearing heels. Unsteady breaths struggled to reach a comforting pace, and his anxiety and anger only grew from there. He was suck. Just what exactly was he going to do? Fighting was all he knew. That and running.

There was no way to run from this.

"…c'mon, think," he grumbles, forehead pressing harshly against the wall. Nothing came to mind. "…THINK!" he had slammed his forehead against the drywall with frustration, and he surely had earned a crack from it. Fists followed soon after, and he had struggled to keep his body standing. It was childish, the reason why he cried. But he couldn't help it at all. Scout loved her. He didn't want to have to do it. He didn't want to take such an unfair responsibility. It wasn't fair.

Yet he had to.


End file.
